


The Westerlands

by rhye



Series: 41 Nights/Alys Storm [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Domestic Fluff, F/M, How Do I Tag, Jamie Lannisters little spoon energy, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhye/pseuds/rhye
Summary: Tyrion decides to offer Alysanne Storm (Jaime's daughter with Cersei) the Westerlands. Queen Sansa Stark doesn't react well and takes Galladon as a hostage of the crown. Jaime doesn't react well to any of this. Nevertheless, adventures will be had. The main genre here is meant to be action/adventure and domestic fluff.If you have not read the earlier works in this series, I imagine it won't hinder you much.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: 41 Nights/Alys Storm [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1355197
Comments: 101
Kudos: 167





	1. A Summons

**Author's Note:**

> I was saving this to post all at once when it was done, but I'm in isolation so I decided I could use a little cheering on to finish this. Please comment if you are enjoying this.

JAIME

“A summons to King’s Landing?” Brienne’s brows bent together.

Jaime passed the scroll over to her. He felt dread settle into his stomach.

“It will be nice to see Queen Sansa again,” Brienne whispered.

It’s a summons, not an invitation. “Come, even _you_ can tell this is not a social visit.” King Jon was summoning the entire Tarth family-- save the Evenstar himself-- to King’s Landing. Special mention was made that they were to bring Galladon, who was invited to squire for King Jon.

Galladon had been a squiring for Lord Henton Fostyr of Crescent Moon, on the southeast end of Tarth, for a full year. Galladon had considered King’s Landing and King Jon, but had ultimately made the decision to devote himself to local politics.

“I suppose King Jon wanted Galladon for squire rather more than we thought,” Brienne said.

Jaime scoffed. “The king has six other squires. Can’t you see Galladon is to be a hostage?”

Brienne rocked backwards as if slapped. “Queen Sansa would never--”

Jaime looked up from his chair into his wife’s fair eyes, and Brienne’s words died on her lips. Brienne knew as well as Jaime that Queen Sansa would do anything needed to secure her power.

“King Jon wouldn’t pretend to take him to squire,” Brienne amended.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt he will truly be taken to squire.”

“I don’t understand why anyone would want a hostage against-- against us? Do they think we’d make some move to undermine their rule?”

Jaime lifted the second scroll, one he had not yet opened. It was sealed with the red wax lion of the King’s Hand. “I imagine Tyrion will have some idea.”

Brienne took the sealed scroll and opened it. She tried to pass it back, but Jaime nodded at her to read it. He didn’t want Brienne to think he and Tyrion had secrets from her.

“Brother, by now you must have received the raven from the King. I want to assure you that I will be on hand to guarantee that Galladon is treated with nothing but the honor befitting his position, and the care befitting his gentleness. He will be the foremost squire to King Jon. I have no doubt that he will learn much and more under the tutelage of the White Wolf.

As for the reason this position is on offer… You know the situation in the Westerlands has been deteriorating. Several factions have arisen against me-- one which wishes to set Galladon at Casterly Rock, another Lord Banefort, another Greenfield-- you see the issue.

And the problem does, indeed, pertain to issues. Marleina and I have decided not to have a child of our own. I won’t fight with you about this, you wouldn’t understand.

I made the (admittedly premature) suggestion to Queen Sansa that I might set Alys up at Casterly. The next day, she informed me that King Jon would like to take Galladon to squire. I suppose she thinks I might be playing a long game, setting up Cersei’s daughter to retake her throne.

I asked her to invite you all, for I imagine you have some inventive curses to toss at me and they sound rather more colorful in person.

I also would like to meet my youngest nephew.

Yours, Tyrion.”

Jaime scowled. He met Brienne’s eyes. “He has some nerve. I might have more than curses to throw at him. Knives, more like.”

“No,” Brienne said calmly, “I am far more disappointed in the Queen’s fears than in your brother’s loose tongue.”

“Loose tongue? Say instead loose brain. He wishes to set Alys at Casterly Rock? He must have lost his wits. He must know I would never allow it.”

He expected Brienne to agree with him, but her mouth was set in a firm line, and she would not meet his gaze.

“You think I _should_?”

“I think I agreed that I would not lock Alys in a tower-- neither physical nor implied. She’s five and ten, Jaime. This is a decision she should be a part of.”

“No.”

“She might not choose--”

“Of course she’ll choose Casterly, can’t you see that? She’s as stupidly noble and stubborn as you, and she knows that if she refuses, it will fall to Galladon, as long as Tyrion refuses to have children.”

“Galladon could refuse as well,” Brienne supplied.

“He could, and then Arthur would have to take it-- he’d have to marry and have a passel of little lions and sit inside on a chair all the damn day. Or maybe he would pass it to CatCat, and she could spend her time building towers and ignoring petitioners. Or she may pass it on to Gerrad, who could suck his thumb in answer to each petition. Or maybe we can make a few more children, so they might have a turn at it.” While speaking, Jaime had risen from his seat unawares. Now he sat down heavily. “The only hope is to convince Tyrion to have children of his own. Mayhaps meeting Gerrad can sway him.”

“I doubt he will be swayed in that,” Brienne whispered.

“He’s being ridiculous. No one cares whether his children will be as tall as you or as short as he.”

“No,” Brienne said rather forcefully. “You don’t care. That is not the same as believing no one cares. Quite a few people do care, and as much as I wish that were not so, that is the world in which we live.”

Jaime shook his head. He sighed. “Well, we’ve changed the world before.”

They had, but Brienne did not look convinced. “Jaime,” she said, “Did it occur to you that Tyrion may be tired of trying to change the world? Or that Marleina may not want more children?”

Jaime had to admit that it had _not_ occurred to him. Marleina was a widow. Her husband, the late Lord Rolan Drox, had been a brute. She had borne him only one son, Kaegan-- the current young Lord Drox. And, so far as Jaime knew, she no longer saw her son nor her husband’s family. They blamed her for Lord Rolan’s death, but to hear Tyrion tell it, Marleina was lucky to escape with her life. Marleina was no great beauty-- short with mouse brown hair and a love of pretty flowers-- but she was a Hawthorne, a highborn lady-- and now Lady Lannister. Perhaps Jaime had been naive to assume children were the next obvious step. More likely, Jaime had wanted children so badly that he couldn’t imagine someone else _not_ wanting them.

But now, he might lose two of his. Alys to Casterly Rock and Galladon as a hostage to the crown. No, surely Tyrion could be convinced. Or he could name someone else. Banefort or Greenfield if they wanted it so badly. Genna’s grandson was a likely option, or one of his five children with Anicia of the Lannisport Lannisters. The Westerlands were sowed with the blood of Lann the Clever. Alys was not the only choice.

He tried not to imagine Tyrion’s logic, but it was too plain. _Alys_ , whose only grandparents were Tywin and Joanna Lannister, was the _obvious_ choice.

She would take it. She had not a shred of ambition. She was Brienne’s daughter to the marrow of her bones, and she would feel the obligation of it.

“At least, let’s not mention it to Alys until we’ve spoken to Tyrion,” Jaime suggested.

Brienne frowned, but nodded. “I’ll make plans to move the household to King’s Landing.”

“Let’s not be gone for more than a few months.” Jaime thought he sounded pleading, and he groped for a reason. “The cherry trees--”

Brienne laughed. “Of course, we wouldn’t want to miss the cherry trees.”

“It will be Garrad’s first cherry festival,” Jaime hedged.

Brienne softened at that. “We’ll try to make it back before the blooms fall.”

Jaime nodded, but he was thinking that Galladon would not be coming back with them.

*****

Jaime stood at the edge of the docks, watching his children follow their mother down the gangplank like a row of ducklings. He turned to bring up the read guard, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned to face the man behind him.

Selwyn’s brow was tight, his lips pinched. “Jaime,” he said hoarsely.

Jaime knew his goodfather’s moods. He’d lived now with Selwyn, _gods_ , longer than he had ever lived with his own father. They were well and truly family. Both had invested their entire hearts in that row of ducklings.

“Jaime,” Selwyn began again, “I… it’s not a kind thing to say... Don’t misunderstand me, but I’ve never been happier to have _you_ protecting my grandchildren.”

Jaime was uncomfortable with wherever this conversation was going, and tried to head it off at the pass. “Don’t be. I’ve a dismal record protecting anyone larger than a squirrel. Brienne, on the other hand--”

Selwyn cut him off with a shake to his shoulder. “That’s not what I mean. What I mean is… I know you will always put your family first.”

Jaime felt his heart stutter, though he couldn’t be sure why. He understood Selwyn, though. If a man would through an innocent child out of a window to protect his unclaimed bastards-- or if he would put a sword in the back of a king for, as Selwyn thought, the life of his miserable father-- of course he’d kill King Jon or Queen Sansa or any of the Seven for the lives of his living children.

Worse, he knew he _would_. Not just because they were _his_ or because they were innocents, but because any monarch who killed innocent children was one who should not be near the throne. Jaime had learned that lesson the hardest way.

He gripped Selwyn’s sleeve with his own hand. “I’ll return with them, or not at all.”

Selwyn nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I look forward to your return then.”

Jaime turned down the gangplank to follow his family, knowing he had lied. He might not return with Galladon, or with Alys.

*****

The small ship was owned by Selwyn’s own shipmaster, and crewed with able and loyal men. The captain gave over his own bunk for Brienne and Jaime, with Alys and CatCat sharing a pallet on the floor. Arthur and Galladon were to stay in hammocks in the crew area. They were young enough to think it an adventure, and neither wanted to bunk with “the babes”. Even as everyone stowed their belonging, Jaime turned to see Brien Payne run up the gangplank.

“Milord, milord. My father says I am to come and watch after-- what after your family. He’s sent a note--” Brien pulled a scroll out of his pocket.

Jaime took it and read:

“Ser Jaime, milady Ser Brienne already refused to take Brien as a guard. He wants to use his training to keep those he loves safe. Tell your lady wife that, and I’m sure she’ll not turn the ship around. Between us, I think it is Alys that Brien most wants to protect, though you may make use of him as you wish. I want him to go, to learn, and to fight with honor. Podrick.”

Jaime shoved the note in his pocket and slapped Brien on the shoulder. “The boys are setting up in the crew bunk, down that stair.”

“Thank you, milord ser. Thank you.”

*****

Brienne gaped at Jaime like a fish. “He _what_?” Jaime passed the note over. “He’s too young,” Brienne said.

“Good, glad we’re in agreement,” Jaime smiled. “He’s setting up in the crew bunk with our boys.”

“Agreement?” She flushed red. “I just said he’s too young!”

“He _is_ too young to play guard for his own friends, I agree. He is _not_ too young to come along as their friend, and so much the better if he believes himself to be guarding them.”

“You’re ridiculous. That makes no sense.”

Jaime tapped the paper still clutched between Brienne’s fingers. “He needs to be on this trip. He mayhaps doesn’t know it yet, but he needs to know what it would mean to be the Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“The what?” Her eyes widened.

“He’s not too young to know his heart, and Tyrion is offering Alys the West. Or had you forgotten the purpose of this trip?”

“I didn’t.”

Jaime cocked his head to the side. “Mayhaps Tyrion will put a child in his wife before we get to King’s Landing and Brien Payne need not worry about becoming Lord Consort to the Lady of a Great House.”

Brienne’s face reddened more.

“Make no mistake, Brienne: if Tyrion asks, Alys will accept.”


	2. Sansa's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tarth family arrives in King's Landing.

JAIME

Within a few days they settled into a routine on board. Jaime watched Captain Pryer teach Galladon, Brien, and Arthur how to sail a real ship. Arthur fancied himself a sailor after an hour at the rigging. Galladon, gods bless him, kept hitting his head on the boom. 

“Now you know how it got its name,” Alys snickered. “I can hear your empty head ringing like a bell from the bow.”

Galladon grunted when he glowered back at her. The two children-- now almost grown-- had been apart for the better part of a year while Galladon squired for House Fostyr. Not a whit had changed between them, and Jaime was glad.

Brien mostly followed Alys around. He still imagined he was some sort of guard, so he spoke little and always had his short sword on hand. Jaime, despite himself, relaxed more easily knowing his blind daughter would never be far from help.

Jaime had little to do on the ship, but he was old enough now that “little” was what he _wanted_ to do. He passed time watching the sea beat itself against the hull. The wind scoured his hair. His beard was perpetually rimed with salt, leaving it stiff as the hair between his lady’s legs.

The thought alone moved his eyes to Brienne. She was sitting to nurse Garrad-- because truly, when was she not?-- leaning against the quarter deck with her eyes closed. Garrad sat astride one of her long legs, face buried within Brienne’s linen tunic. Both seemed to be drifting to sleep in the dappled sunlight breaking through the fore sail. Her lips looked wind-chapped, and a few days at sea had brought the freckles out on her cheeks. Yet these could not compare to the dots across her breasts like stars in the night sky, freckles only he had seen until he’d made her a passel of babes and all the world got to see under her tunic.

He was still staring at her sleeping form, wondering at the otherworldly beauty captured in her harsh features, when the cabin door came banging open, disgorging CatCat and Arthur. Both were yelling over the other. Brienne’s blue eyes opened slowly, and at first she blinked at their red faces in confusion. Jaime watched her wade back to consciousness.

“Arthur knocked over my tower!”

“You shouldn’t have been building it anyway!”

“It was almost as tall as I was, and it had turrets-- oh _mama_ \-- he should be in trouble. I spent all morning on it.”

“She made it out of vegetables and fruit from the hold! The cargo.” Arthur snapped. “She should be in trouble, that’s who should be in trouble.”

Jaime had stood nearby too long; Arthur had seen him. “Father! She can’t play with food from the hold. Tell her. I was just trying to make her clean up--”

Jaime sighed. He came closer and knelt before CatCat. “Arthur’s right, Cat. You can’t play with the cargo--”

“I wasn’t _playing_. I was--”

“Building _is_ playing,” Arthur snapped.

CatCat’s large blue eyes filled with tears. “Papa,” she whispered. “I was building.”

“When we get to King’s Landing, how about I have a proper set of building blocks made for you? Fine ones, with wood and stone.”

“And mortar?” She asked, eyes wide.

“Perhaps,” he hedged. “But this fruit is to be sold at the markets there. It has to get there in one piece. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Arthur,” Brienne intervened. “You knocked over her tower, so you can help her take the fruit back to the hold.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. “Yes, mother,” he whispered. He turned to CatCat and hissed, “Move your butt already. You got me in trouble again.”

“No, you got me in trouble.”

They disappeared below-decks still continuing their argument.

Jaime sank down onto the deck next to Brienne. “I will be very happy to get off this ship.”

She laughed.

Garrad had awoken in the tumult, and Brienne passed him over to Jaime while she re-tied her tunic. Jaime, who didn’t wear his gold hand at sea in fear it would fall overboard and never be seen again, was wearing a small wooden hook instead. Garrad wasted no time chomping down on it.

“He’s teething,” Brienne said.

Jaime looked down as the drool began to puddle along his cuff. He tilted his head. “You don’t say?”

*****

ALYS

She sat below-decks most of the time. In truth, her stomach misliked the rolling of the ship, but it made little difference to her if she was above-deck or below. Brien insisted he didn’t mind the swaying, so it was not unusual for them to sit in the stateroom all afternoon. They talked-- they always had much to talk about-- and they sang together at times. Alys had never cared overly much for singing, but Brien had a lovely voice yet refused to sing alone. She’d sing with him if it was the only way to hear him.

He read to her at times, and at times she read to him. They might stroll about the deck, her arm locked with his. Just that morning, while doing just this, Alys had suffered a discomfiting thought. Was Brien perhaps _courting_ her?

That afternoon, as Alys sewed and Brien polished his sword in the stateroom, Alys decided to be as brave as her mother and come out with it.

“Brien,” she said, “Are you courting me?”

His short sword clattered to the floor. “No, I… I mean, I’m… I don’t want to presume, Lady Alys. I wouldn’t presume.”

It wasn’t a yes or a no. He was too shy to give either of those.

She sucked in a deep breath and said, “Because I wouldn’t mind, if you were wanting to. Court me, I mean.” Her declaration was met with silence, and she wondered if she’d said too much. “I-- I know you can do better than me. I know… I know I’m just a blind bastard--”

“Don’t say such things!”

“Such things? They’re true things! Am I not blind? Were my parents not unwed?”

“That’s different,” Brien said. “The King is a bastard--”

“He’s not. He’s trueborn.”

“But he was the King before anyone knew that. In the North at least.”

“And I might be Queen in the West, but here, on this ship, I’m still a blind bastard. I’m not trying to put myself down, Brien--”

“Well good!”

“I’m just… I know you could do better.”

He sighed slowly. “Alys, I couldn’t do better. Not if you were a bastard or a queen or a street urchin. You’re still the most amazing person I know.”

She felt her cheeks warm slightly.

“And I-- I would very much like to court you, but I think your parents would kill me.”

“Maybe it could be our own secret?” Her heart fluttered against her ribs.

She heard Brien’s seat shift and then the bed dipped next to her. “I would like that,” he said. He made it sound like a song.

“Then we should kiss,” she smiled.

“I would like that very much.”

*****

JAIME

Within a fortnight, the Tarth family had arrived at the docks of King’s Landing. They were greeted by a host of Lannister men, as well as a smattering of Northern forces.

At Jaime’s shoulder, Brienne said, “Maybe you were wrong about this situation. Why should Lannister men greet us at the docks if Queen Sansa thinks Lannisters are plotting against her?”

Jaime turned subtly to the men guarding the left flank. “Do you remember Beren Tallhart from Winterfell?” He asked. “If we weren’t to be considered dangerous, why should there be northmen here at all? We are a small family walking up one hill in a crowded city. Does the Queen expect us to make a run for it?”

Brienne’s ugly scowl wrinkled her face, and Jaime watched her powerful brows draw down, her teeth swipe over her bottom lip before retreating back inside.

“Wife,” Jaime whispered, “We’ll figure this out. No need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Brienne hissed. “Just… disappointed.”

Jaime grunted. He could not disagree with that.

*****

BRIENNE

They were brought to the keep and shown rooms in the Tower of the Hand. These were familiar rooms, the same rooms they’d been giving on their one earlier trip as a family to King’s Landing. CatCat had been too young to remember that trip and Brien had never been to King’s Landing, but Galladon, Alys, and Arthur were quick to reclaim their previous beds.

Tyrion met them, and smiled on as the children-- some of whom were mostly adults now-- squabbled and flapped about like wild pheasants. He picked up and held Garrad with a tenderness that sparked a great sadness in Brienne. Tyrion _did_ want his own children. He blew raspberries into Garrad’s cheek to make him smile his gummy, drooly grin.

Finally, Tyrion sighed and passed Garrad to his brother.

“I’m sorry about this,” he murmured.

“You ought to be,” Jaime shot back. On the surface, nothing between them seemed amiss, but Brienne could see the fire in Jaime’s green eyes.“You put my family in danger.” Jaime’s hiss was too low for anyone but Garrad and Brienne to hear.

“They’re my family too,” Tyrion offered.

A page knocked at the door of the apartment, interrupting the disagreement. The King wanted to see Ser Jaime, and the Queen was waiting to have a word with Ser Brienne.

Brienne passed Garrad to the nurse-maid. Steeling herself for the encounter, she tightened her sword belt and descended from the Tower of the Hand.

The Castle grounds held few memories for her, far fewer demons than she knew Jaime would have to fight. Last time they had visited, he’d confessed to seeing shades of the past around every corner. She passed the base of the White Sword Tower. No matter how long Andrew Estermont had held the title of Lord Commander, in Brienne’s mind it was still _Jaime’s tower_. This was where he had lived for the bulk of his youth, where he had bedded his sister, where he had given Oathkeeper to Brienne. Mayhaps she was haunted by shades here as well. She could not be in this place and not remember Cersei.

She turned her eyes forward into the afternoon sun and quieted her thoughts, listening instead to the gurgle of the Blackwater Rush far below.

When Brienne entered the Queen’s solar, she was surprised to see it little changed from their trip years before. The same dusty tapestries hung on the walls, the same pile of rolled parchments occupied the corner of the desk.

Sansa was also little changed. Her hair hung long and red and straight, small braids serving to pin it away from her face. She stood from behind her desk and motioned to a chair. “Please, sit.”

Brienne felt her back stiffen. “I’d rather stand.”

Sansa’s face hardened, and she nodded. To Brienne she said, “I know how you must feel.”

“You do not,” Brienne said. “I have never been less than fully loyal to you. Now you have taken my son _hostage_. And why? Do you mistrust Alys so much? Or is it Jaime? If you mistrust Tyrion, you might dismiss him as hand.”

Sansa sat again in her own chair, her back straight. “You misunderstand.”

“Then we are free to go?”

“Sit,” Sansa said again. “I command it.”

Brienne was left with no choice-- Sansa was the _Queen_. She sat in the chair across from Sansa’s desk.

“I could never mistrust you, Ser Brienne. I don’t mistrust Tyrion, nor Ser Jaime. And least of all Alys.”

“You have an unkind way of showing trust, your grace.”

Sansa’s smile was sad. “Tyrion warned me that I might turn my friends into enemies this way.” Her blue eyes pinned Brienne. “Trust goes both ways, Ser Brienne. Did you think I would summon your family to King’s Landing for nefarious purposes? That shows not a little mistrust, don’t you think?”

That did give Brienne pause. “I didn’t want to believe it, but Jaime--”

Sansa held up her hand. “Ser Jaime has learned to expect the worst. The kind of loyalty to which you and I were raised-- it does not come naturally to him. I must _beg_ you to trust me.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “Then my family is in no danger?”

“Not from me,” Sansa confirmed. “I wish I could say they were in no danger whatever, but that is not the case.” Sansa sighed and passed a scroll across the table.

Brienne opened it and read. It was short and simple-- a threat from house Clifton to rebel against the Crown if Tyrion were not replaced by Galladon within the year. Sansa passed over another, this one from House Hetherspoon, vowing the same.

“Both houses are within a day’s ride of Casterly Rock,” Sansa whispered. “Tyrion is not wrong when he says unrest is growing in the West. It’s clear he cannot hold Casterly much longer without risk of violence.”

“Tyrion implied that you did not support his decision to give the Rock to Alys.”

Sansa sat back. “I don’t know the right choice. But I know it’s not _his_ choice. Tyrion forgets at times that there are other considerations besides the political. Alys is little more than a child.”

Brienne sagged in relief, but still had one question. “Why hold Galladon if you don’t fear that we will rebel?”

Sansa pointed to the scrolls. “Galladon is not as dear to these Western houses as he is to you, perhaps, but it still seems unlikely that they’d move against the Crown if we have their preferred lord hostage. Also… theirs are not the only missives. There’s an increasingly vocal contingent that wants Lord Banefort to take the West. I fear they might harm Galladon to silence their Lannister loyalist opponents. And you understand I could not send a raven-- if anyone knew that the Crown would never harm Galladon, the point would be entirely missed. I half expect the Banefort loyalists might make a move on the Crown in the auspices of being Lannister loyalists-- trying to force us to kill Galladon for them. I do not know what might happen, but I do know that Galladon has become a player in this game, for all that we might have wished it weren’t so. Jon and I will do our best to keep him safe. But…” Sansa looked pained. “Ser Jaime doesn’t always think before he speaks. Perhaps it would be best to keep this discussion between you and I.”

“I won’t lie to him. Nor withhold information.”

“I’m not asking you to, I’m simply asking you to consider well what you say to him.”

“You said you trusted him.”

“I trust his _motives_. Not his tongue.”

Brienne smiled despite herself. She didn’t want to admit that Sansa had a point. Still, she did not think she was able to keep secrets from Jaime. He read them plain on her face.

“My Queen, I--”

“Brienne, please. I won’t string you up for using my name.” Her smile was kind.

“I know. I just… I’m not as adept as you or, or Tyrion or Jaime at thinking politically. I admit I do not entirely understand the nuances of the situation. But I do want to apologize for believing the worst about you.”

Sansa smiled even more kindly. “Don’t apologize. You were meant to. I’m beyond certain that Tarth is being watched by one of these Western factions. I hate that I had to toy with your emotions that way. I fear Ser Jaime will never forgive me.”

“And Tyrion?”

Sansa sighed and shook her head. “He is part of this ploy, though he does truly want Alys to take the Rock rather than Galladon or Lord Banefort or some other cousin. He sees it as her birthright. In truth, it’s _his_ birthright. This weighs on him. He wants children badly, but knows they would become pawns in this game. He’s hoping Alys can claim loyalists that Galladon might not, in the West. If she _does_ take the Rock, he might retire and have children. He doesn’t truly want to be Hand any longer.”

“But he’s good at it,” Brienne suggested.

“He is.”

“Not as good as you are.”

That brought the Queen up short. She stared at Brienne, then whispered, “That’s kind of you to say.”

“No, your grace, it’s the truth. _You_ should be Hand.”

“I am already the Queen.”

“Make Jon your Hand, and be his.”

Sansa smiled wistfully. “Perhaps.”

“I wish he could retire to Casterly Rock and install his own children there. I’m not sure what he’s done to anger the Westerlands so--”

“He killed Lord Tywin. Some still think he murdered Joffrey. He aided Daenerys, and then the Starks, and could not save Cersei. But in truth, we both know his greatest crime,” Sansa said soberly.

Brienne nodded. Tyrion could not be Lord of Casterly Rock because he was several feet too short for the job. Not for the first time in her life, Brienne felt her cheeks color with rage over the injustice of it.

Sansa’s eyes did not hold rage, but sadness. “He deserves the Rock,” Sansa said. “But most of all, he deserves a rest. If he doesn’t want to fight for his birthright any longer, I will not ask it of him.”

“I can only promise to propose the idea to Alys. I will not compel her.”

Sansa hesitated, then said, “ What you do not know is that Tyrion is-- at this very moment-- proposing his plan to Alys. He feared Jaime would never let him near her, so he decided to act quickly. Do you think she will want to take the West?”

“I… I don’t know. Jaime thinks so.”

“Either way, she should not decide until she has visited the West. But Galladon needs to stay here. I can’t risk him riding West.”

“Riding West? Your grace, I don’t understand.”

“Within a week, we’re sending your family West. Minus Jaime and Galladon, who would not be safe there. Alys needs to meet the people before she can make an informed decision. You will accompany her, of course, along with Arthur and Brien. As for the babes--”

“I will do this if you ask it of me, but I beg of you to let CatCat and Garrad stay with Jaime.”

“Are you not still nursing Garrad?”

“I am, but-- Well.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Sansa whispered. As a mother herself, she likely understood fully what she was asking Brienne to give up. But Brienne was strong enough, and Garrad would not forget her. Or so she hoped. Men rode off for months at a time regularly, and their children remembered them. _It will work out_ , she told herself. The Crown and Alys had need of her, and Garrad would be well taken care of in his Uncle’s household, with his father to hand.

“One week?” Brienne confirmed.  
Sansa nodded solemnly. “Until then, please enjoy the full hospitality of the Keep.”


	3. The Red Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, anger, sadness, fear, regret, affection, longing, violence, betrayal-- these are the ghosts that haunt The Red Keep. It's not possible to be at peace in such a place.
> 
> (This chapter is essentially a Braime fight-sex-fight sandwich). Note the RATING BUMP!

JAIME

King Jon led Jaime into the bunkhouse for the squires. They seemed much the same as the last time he had seen them. He was surrounded by ghosts, by the pock-marked young Dennis Appleton and that overly boastful Waxley lad. Jaime had beat the shit out of Waxley for fun alone. His cousin Lancel also once had a bunk here, though whether he spent more nights here or in Cersei’s bed, Jaime could not know.

Jon was introducing the squires, all of whom stood with their mouths agape as though _they_ were the ones seeing a ghost. _Mayhaps they are._

After the bunkhouse, Jon walked with Jaime to the armory and the kitchens, and finally back to the training yard. It was meant to be a tour, and Jon was detailing all aspects of life as a squire as though Jaime had never been a squire himself. About halfway through their circuit, it occurred to Jaime that Jon was dragging this on unnecessarily.

“Snow.” Jaime interrupted Jon’s fifth or sixth assurance of Galladon’s safety. “What is it? What are you keeping me from? Is it Brienne and Sansa?”

Jon’s eyes slid away from Jaime’s. “Sansa doesn’t mean any harm to your family.”

“I’m sure that’s why she needs my son as a hostage.”

“Ser Jaime, I assure you that Galladon is to be treated the same as any other squire for the Crown.”

“Unless Alys rebels.”

“Alys _won’t_ rebel, so it matters not.”

“If I have my way, Alys won’t even step foot in the West,” Jaime said. King Jon did not answer for a long moment. At length, his eyes met Jaime’s.

“I have another matter to discuss.”

“Oh?”

“I know Galladon and Aiana have been exchanging letters. For years.”

 _Oh yes, that._ “If you must know, Snow, I rather hoped Galladon would be distracted by one of Lord Fostyr’s daughters, but I presume that has not been the case.”

“No,” Jon said, loquacious as ever.  
“Do you think something will come of it?”

“They are both young, so I cannot say, but it wouldn’t be my first choice to encourage that romance. I have nothing against you or your lady wife or your son, you understand. But Galladon is sworn to Tarth and Ana--”

“Is the Crown Princess, yes, I know.” Aiana was the heir to the Iron Throne. With her straight dark hair and gray eyes, she looked far more Stark than either of her parents. But she was the Targaryen heir nonetheless. Jon and Sansa had two more children besides, both younger, both girls: Luciya was Aiana in miniature, but her eyes had a noted purple hue; Alexes looked like Sansa, though her eyes were also more lavender than Tully blue. They were called Ana, Lucy, and Alex among those closest to them. Jaime did not count himself among that crowd. He’d met them only once before, on his previous trip to King’s Landing. Though apparently he was in danger of becoming intimately tied to the Crown. He turned to Jon.

“If you don’t want my son and your daughter to form a relationship, you’d do best by sending him back to Tarth.”

Jon grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“It is. Trust my family, and let us go.”

Jon looked away, unable to meet Jaime’s eyes.

“What are you not saying?” It was so unlike Stark’s nephew-son to withhold any information, let alone lie. The guilt of it was plain on his face.

At length, Jon simply said, “You will have to ask your lady wife if you desire more details. I’ll not break confidence with my Queen.”

Jaime sighed, knowing it was the most he would get out of Snow. But Snow’s words also implied that Sansa was-- even as they spoke-- bringing Brienne into her confidence. That was a pleasant change of pace from being hounded by suspicion of rebellion.

At that very moment, he saw the very object of his thoughts. She was far away, but he would recognize that towering stomp of hers anywhere. Jaime slapped the young King on the shoulder and wandered off after her, jogging to catch up.

When he was nearly at her side, she stopped without turning and hissed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You never _want_ to talk about anything,” Jaime said, finally coming around in front of her. Brienne’s face was stormy and troubled. Her blue eyes found his, and he saw something in them he’d rarely seen before-- fear? “Brienne,” he stepped toward her.

She looked down. “You’re going to ask me what the Queen said. She asked me not to tell you. I’m caught in the middle once again. Eventually, you will get me to speak, and then you will be angry with her, and with me, and she will be angry with me--”

“I’m already angry with her, if she asked you to keep secrets from me. And angry with you, if you’d comply.”

“I _will_ tell you. I told her as much. But… I don’t want to start fighting. Not yet. We’ve only just got here.” Her eyes flicked up to the Red Keep, and Jaime saw-- almost _felt_ \-- the way her eyes lingered on the White Sword Tower.

Jaime sighed and answered softly, “I won’t force you. Come, we’re tired. Let’s have a bath.” They’d been on the ship too long and probably should have bathed _before_ meeting the King and Queen.

While waiting for the hot water, Brienne questioned Jaime on Jon’s intentions. “He seemed nervous. I imagine his mind was with you and the Queen, but he showed me the training yard and armory.”

“He showed _you_ the training yard and armory?” Brienne’s eyes went wide with disbelief.

Jaime chuckled. “As I said, he was nervous.”

When the hot water was delivered, Jaime urged Brienne to bathe first while he scratched out a message to Selwyn to announce their safe arrival and delivered it to a page. When he returned, she was wrapped in a long towel, her wet hair just long enough to send droplets of water sliding down her smooth white shoulders. Jaime swallowed and turned his back to disrobe. He stepped into the tepid water, but it helped little. His cock ached. Damned boats and their cramped quarters. But they could not lie together until he’d at least made a cursory attempt at bathing. He rushed, ducking his head under and scrubbing it fiercely with one hand.

Then her hand was on his back, sliding the soap over his skin. He stilled and sighed with pleasure. She rinsed the suds, and Jaime stood, water splashing over the tub’s edge. He stole the towel from her, leaving her naked and goose-pimpled. Wrapping himself in the soft fabric, he wordlessly pushed her back to the bed until she hit the edge and was forced to sit.

He slipped to his own knees. Her hand was on his head and he chanced to look up at her. What he saw was not lust, but-- _sadness_?

“Tell me,” he whispered to her.

She shook her head, but spoke regardless. “I don’t like being here.”

“It’s a cursed place,” he confirmed. “But we can forget it for a while.”

“Do you-- you must see her everywhere here. Think of her.”

For a single blessed moment, Jaime did not know who Brienne meant. Then he did.

“I see _you_ everywhere,” he whispered. “My wife.”

Her mouth opened, but whatever she had to say, he didn’t want to hear it. He pushed her legs apart and ran one finger down the cleft of her sex. She sighed, a tremor climbing up her long legs. Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, pushing her legs even farther apart and following the path of his finger with his open tongue.

“I--” she gasped. “you--”

He smiled, happy to have brought her to incoherency so quickly. He spread her folds with his fingers and swirled his tongue between them, tasting her musk. Her damp golden curls clung to his untrimmed beard. Too quickly, she spasmed, locking his head between her thighs. He laughed as he freed himself and pushed her back onto the bed. Laying beside her, he wasted no time closing his mouth around one of her nipples. He tasted sweet cream on his tongue. She bucked under him. Jaime was gentle, but not contrite about stealing milk from Garrad. He wished he could get another child on Brienne, but he knew it was too soon; her moon’s blood had not returned since their youngest. While she writhed in blind pleasure, he put himself at her entrance and slipped in. She was loose and wide but he didn’t mind. She’d been opened by him, by birthing children for him. He moved his lips to claim hers, and then away to her ear.

“Wife,” he whispered. “What am I to you?”

“You’re mine.” The words gave her control and she deftly flipped them so she was on top.

He sank into the feather mattress, watching his own wife take what she wanted. She held his hand to her cleft, so he fumbled uselessly at her teat with his empty wrist. Her other hand came up to hold it there, rubbing the thickened scar tissue against her hardened nipple. She cried and rocked forward, climaxing, and he followed not a moment later.

She stilled and fell forward onto him. He sighed, then lay a kiss on her sweaty brow. She turned her cheek to the side, resting it on his chest. “Now I need another bath.”

He laughed. His softened cock slipped out of her. He could feel the sticky mess between them. “There’s still one here if you don’t mind cold water.”

She made a sound like a grumble. Jaime, for his part, wiped himself down with the tunic he’d removed not half an hour before. Brienne _did_ slip into the cold water and sit for a moment. Her hand worked between her legs before she stood and toweled dry once again.

When they were both dried and dressed and the bed stripped for the maid to change, Jaime sat on a settee by their small fire. “Is now a good enough time?” he asked.

Brienne frowned and stomped around for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. “You’ll find out at dinner…”

“I thought it was meant to be a secret?”

“Huh? Oh no, the secret’s something else. _That_ you won’t be mad about. Sansa’s pretending to keep Galladon here as a hostage because there’s been a credible threat against him.”

Jaime’s brow wrinkled. “House Banefort?”

“The same.”

“Why am I not to know?”

“She worries they may have ears within the castle and you’d let something slip.”

“He would have been just as safe on Tarth--”

“It’s all a bit more complicated. I’m not Sansa; I can’t understand the complexities. But I do trust her.”

Jaime was sure he _could_ understand the complexities, but by conveying the message through Brienne, Queen Sansa had effectively locked Jaime away from them. Brienne would make a good Evenstar and had a head for crop yields and water rations, but she had not been raised to the subterfuge and politics that Jaime had.

He sighed. “If that’s what I _won’t_ find upsetting, I guess you better lay the rest on me.”

“While we were speaking with the King and Queen… Tyrion was speaking to Alys. He offered her the West.”

Jaime felt his back go tense. Jon had been keeping him occupied while Tyrion worked his machinations. His jaw clenched. “Did you know about it?”

In a blur, she whirled on him, half-clothed. “Who do you take me for?”

The answer hung thick as smoke between them. Cersei used to plot behind his back, used to use the children without any input from their “uncle”.

Brienne’s wet hair sprayed crystal droplets as her head shook in rage. “You think I would betray you? I may disagree with your opinions, but she’s _your_ daughter.”

Jaime grimaced. “She’s _our_ daughter. I’m sorry, I… I’m sorry.”

Brienne sagged, her anger flowing out of her. “It’s this _place_.”

 _It’s my mess of a life._ He nodded nonetheless.

“That’s not all.” Brienne pulled on a clean tunic and sat on the sette to lace her boots. “But you have to give me your word you’ll not say anything untoward to the King and Queen-- or your brother-- at dinner.”

He sat for a while. He knew he could not promise anything to Brienne lightly, and she never asked him unless it was important. This was an unspoken covenant between them. They were both meant to be knights, both honor-bound by their oaths. Jaime had broken his own more times than he could count, but less since Brienne. And never anything he’d sword _to her_.

“You have my word,” he said quietly.

“I’m leaving for the Westerlands in one week.”

“You are?” Jaime heard the flatness in his own tone. Brienne would not look at him.

“Alys, me, Brien, Arthur. Galladon is still meant to seem a hostage of course. And Cat and Garrad are too young.”

“You, Alys, Brien, and Arthur.”

“Not alone. The Crown will lend us men.”

“Men. But not _this_ man.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jaime. Sansa says--”

He grit his teeth. He was damned tired of hearing secondhand what Sansa said.

“The West is volatile. If you show up there, some faction or another might move against Tyrion or-- I don’t know.”

“So now I’m a hostage along with Galladon.”

“No! You-- Jaime, I need you to look after the children anyway. They are the King and Queen. I don’t know that you can bargain them out of this one. Do you not trust me to keep Alys safe?”

“I trust you,” Jaime said. He bent to unlace his own boots, kicking them off.

“What are you doing? It’s dinner soon.”

“Alas, I find I cannot make it. Tell them I’m ill.”

“ _Are_ you ill?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He met her blue eyes. “You bid me not to speak out against my gaolers at dinner. The only way for me to conceivably keep that oath is to forgo dinner.”

Their eyes held for a long moment, and then she nodded. She pulled her jerkin from a hook and laced it.

“I’ll have a tray delivered.” She left without another word.

Jaime threw another log into the fire. He hated this gods-damned city.


	4. A Peace Offering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all set-up. Jaime moves his mouth before his brain catches up, Tyrion explains to the audience why that is, and Brienne hits the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get them out faster though and not overthink things so much, so here it is.

JAIME

They had one week as a family in King’s Landing. Tyrion’s betrayal ached like a bothersome tooth, but Jaime knew he had been outmaneuvered. He avoided Tyrion, Sansa, and Jon. The weather was fair, so this didn’t prove overly difficult. Jaime spent much time in the yard with Arthur, Brien, and Gally. He had commissioned a building set for CatCat, as promised, and she would watch them spar while stacking blocks into impossibly ornate towers.

Alys, on the other hand, spent most of her time with Tyrion. His stomach twisted when he thought of it.

Jaime also saw surprisingly little of Brienne. She needed to taper off nursing, transferring the task to a wet nurse. At other times, Brienne took tea with the Queen or meals with Alys and Tyrion. Jaime did not mean to be cold and distant to Brienne, but he could not escape his own sour mood. He was angry at Brienne for being on peaceful terms with Sansa and Tyrion. They were schemers, and they’d schemed against Jaime. Yet here was Brienne, spending her time with them. Still, Jaime was wise enough to know that this was not the time to pick a fight with his wife. She would be riding off in a few days. So, he kept his mouth shut.

Finally the morning dawned, and Jaime stood with Gally, CatCat, and Garrad at the gate while ten of the Crown’s men and ten of Tyrion’s Westermen prepared to ride out. Brienne helped Alys into a carriage. Arthur gleamed in borrowed armor, but he could not hope to be as eye-catching at his towering mother. In her silver-blue armor, her red sun half-cape dancing in the wind above her Valyrian steel sword, Brienne was the Warrior herself. Jaime’s cock stirred and it angered him; he should be riding out with her.

Brienne turned her destrier and her eyes met Jaime’s. She was defiant. “I’m sorry you feel this is happening without your permission.”

It was a non-apology. “I feel that way because it _is_ happening without my permission. Everyone in the court has weighed in on my daughter’s future, but no one has asked my opinion. Not once.”

“I have,” she said, still defiant.

“And then you disregarded it.”

“I did not, I considered--”

“She’s not even your daughter,” Jaime barked. “It must be easy to sell her to the Crown for peace.”

He knew it was a mistake as soon as it left his mouth. Brienne paled and her lips pressed together.

“Brienne--” he meant to stumble over an apology, but he was too late. The men were leaving, and she turned her horse to follow. She did not look back.

But Arthur did. Jaime caught his son’s eye and saw something there like disappointment. How much had Arthur heard? No matter, now Arthur would know the truth about the father he idolized; Jaime was a miserable shit and he couldn’t help but hurt the people he loved.

Arthur turned back and spoke quietly to his mother. Jaime kicked the dirt as he watched them descend Aegon’s hill.

*****

He was well into his second bottle of Dornish Red when he was aroused by a pounding on his door. It could only be one of a handful of people, none of whom Jaime wanted to see. The westering sun sent splinters of light through the room. Stripes of it falling on the door made him imagine he was imprisoned.

“Go away,” he called.

Jaime had neglected to bar the door, though. Within moments, it slid open. Jaime frowned to see Tyrion, who entered with a carafe of more wine. He held it up. “A peace offering.”

“What do you want?” Jaime groaned.

“I want to remind you that you’re a sorry asshole, as a matter of fact.”

Jaime only glared. Oddly, being insulted soothed his self-deprecating mood.

“I don’t understand you,” Tyrion started. “You’ve been given everything a man could possibly want, and you are still unhappy.”

“I was perfectly happy until you came along.”

“Yes, just like Cersei, I imagine. I came out of my mother and ruined everything for everyone.”

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I _know_ what you meant.” Tyrion waved it off. “Why does it anger you so much to see Alys go west?”

Jaime didn’t answer.

“I think I know why it angers you. You try, every day, to forget that she is _Cersei’s_ child, not Brienne’s. If she becomes Lady of Casterly Rock, it will be right in front of your face to remember.”

“She’s _Brienne’s_ daughter.”

Tyrion tilted his head. “That’s not what you said this morning.”

“Shit.” Jaime reached for the wine and filled another flagon.

“So you understand that I am confused. You _seemed_ to want to forget Cersei ever existed. But now… what? Brienne has no claim on Alys?”

“I’m an ass.”

“Yes I know.”

Jaime dropped his head. “I should have ridden after them--”

“If you sent a raven to Stoney Sept, they may employ an outrider.”

Jaime scoffed. No one from Stoney Sept was like to help the Kingslayer reconcile with his wife.

“Or..” Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“Or?”

“There’s a small village a day’s long ride from Silverhill-- Gateway Forge.”

Jaime nodded. He knew the town of which Tyrion spoke. It was little more than a well, and Jaime doubted anyone who lived there had even _seen_ a forge.

“I have a friend there… a friend who keeps ravens.”

Jaime didn’t want to know about Tyrion’s spies. No doubt this was a way for the Hand of the King to keep an eye on traffic along the Gold Road. “You are willing to lend me a raven?” Jaime heard his own skepticism.

“As much as it might shock you, I only want to see you happy, brother.”

“Then don’t take my daughter from me.” It always came back to this.

Tyrion’s visage fell. He shrugged. “You can hate me until the end of your days, but the raven is still yours to use.” He hopped down from his chair and left Jaime alone. As angry as Jaime was, he noticed he ached for company as soon as the door had shut behind Tyrion.

He tried not to remember his brother’s words, but they rose unbidden to Jaime’s mind. _If she becomes Lady of Casterly Rock, it will be right in front of your face to remember… she is Cersei’s child._ Not for the first time, Jaime felt his chest ache. Not for his sister nor his daughter, but for his wife. _Brienne doesn’t deserve to lose her daughter, but she will never presume to lay claim._ Maybe that was why Jaime was fighting so hard-- because he feared Brienne wanted to but dared not.

And then he’d reminded her… Gods, he was a bleeding idiot.

He turned to the small desk and fought one-handed with a blank parchment. The ink jar seemed stoppered more firmly than usual. Everything was a struggle of a sudden. _You’ve been drinking_ , he reminded himself. His left-handed dexterity was one of the first things to fly away at the sight of wine. Still, he steeled his hand and wrote:

_Brienne,_

_You won’t expect to hear from me so soon. I have been an ass. I have no right to ask your forgiveness yet again, but I do anyway._

_You do have the right to make any decisions as concerns your daughter, as much right as I have. You also have the right to disagree with her choices, to reprimand her if she is making the wrong ones. I trust no one else, not even myself, to do so with more honesty or care. Likewise, all these many years, you have never failed to let me know if I am making a wrong choice. Am I now? Please guide me. Be my light in the darkness, as ever you have._

_Mind the snakes. Westermen will tell you tales through the mountains of Shadowcats and Cave lions, but you’ve more to fear from snakes. Watch where you step. I’d not see you ravaged by animals before I get to do so again._

_Your Lord Husband_

Jaime sealed the parchment and scrambled to the rookery. The raven took flight into the last rays of the setting sun, and Jaime wished nothing more than that he could fly away west like the raven.

*****

SANSA  
She worked in her solar. There was too much to do. She was handling correspondances while Jon saw petitioners. Tyrion sat across from her. They did this everyday-- sorting ravens for the Small Council Members, and for Jon and herself and Tyrion, determining their order of importance.

“Does he hate me?” Sansa asked. Her voice was flat.

“Not more than he does me,” Tyrion answered, cracking another seal. Tyrion paused and watched her for a moment. “Don’t fret about it, Sansa. Jaime is temperamental, but he _is_ just. In truth, his hatred is hard to earn. He’s _angry_. I told you he would be.”

Sansa nodded. “I shouldn’t care that he hates me, but I respect him. Perhaps I ought not, but I do.”

“If you ought not respect him then I am lost, your grace.”

“How so?”

“I idolize my brother. I cannot help it.” He shrugged and smiled wistfully. “He’s a great golden fool and I wish I had half the courage to be as foolish as he.”

Sansa laughed. “If you were less careful, it would be you with a gaggle of children troubling the Kingdoms, and not him.”

“If only you knew the truth of it,” Tyrion said, thinking of his many years in whorehouses.

“Oh, I do,” Sansa breathed. “Does your lady wife?”

Tyrion’s clever fingers stopped moving. He looked up at Sansa. “I was careful so that I’d not drag bastards into any future marriage. She… she knows enough.”

Sansa nodded. She would not interfere.

*****

BRIENNE

The first day out of King’s Landing was dull. Brien, Arthur, and Brienne rode together, though the two boys made sure to keep a conspiratorial distance between themselves and her. Tyrion had hired on a lady’s maid who rode with Alys in the carriage. When they found a small town that night, with a small inn, Brienne was given a room with Alys, and the maid slept on the floor by the fire.

“Is she nice?” Brienne asked in a whisper as she and Alys lay face to face in bed. The maid was asleep.

“She’s quiet, which is more important. I got through two books today. I’ll run out before we arrive at Casterly Rock.”

“I’ll ride in the carriage if you prefer.”

“No,” Alys breathed. “I don’t want you to be miserable on my account.”

Brienne nodded again and rolled over. She thought Alys was asleep but after a while, Alys whispered, “Mother?”

“Hmm?”

“Arthur told me what Father said this morning. I--”

Brienne rolled back over. “He shouldn’t have. It’s none of his business, and I won’t let Arthur tease you--”

“Oh no! He wasn’t trying to tease me. He was worried.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I-- I can understand if your father’s words hurt you. I’m glad Arthur noticed.”

“Not _me_. Arthur was worried about _you_. He asked me to make-- He was worried about you,” Alys repeated in a quieter voice.

Brienne laughed. “I am fine. What your father said was… inappropriate. And I wish Arthur had not heard, and I wish he had not told you. But I know your father-- I know him better than anyone. Better even than your mother--”

“You’re my--”

“Hush. We wouldn’t be riding to Casterly Rock if I were your mother, Alys.”

Alys made a small girlish sound in her throat.

Brienne wrapped her hand around Alys’s delicate one. “Don’t fret, not about anything. You will always belong to me. And do not lose sleep on account of your father. As I said, I know him best. I promise you even while we lay here, he’s probably composing some apology and scouring the castle for any way to send it to us. Some courier is like to race down the Gold Road tomorrow. He will say I ought to despise him and I should never forgive him, and then he will beg for forgiveness and make some joke unbecoming a lord.” Brienne felt go red at the imagined letter.

Brienne stroked Alys’s hair gently. “Go to sleep, and do not trouble yourself.”

Alys evidently was calmed; she slipped to sleep as the fire died down, but she did not release Brienne’s hand. Not even in slumber.

Brienne took longer to fall asleep. She could not say what troubled her thoughts. Mostly, she missed Jaime, missed being in bed beside him even when they were fighting. She worried for him. He was likely flagellating himself over his parting words. _I forgive you. I will never not forgive you._

When she finally slipped off to sleep, it was with images of her husband’s dancing green eyes behind her own.


	5. Lord Everland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man rides into camp, claiming loyalty to Brienne. But is he trustworthy?

BRIENNE

They rose with the sun and put it at their backs, the road running West by Northwest along the Blackwater Rush. The group made slower progress than a single man on horseback, so Brienne expected to be overtaken by a courier from King’s Landing before their midday meal. When no such rider had shown by sunset, her chest felt heavy. She had been wrong. There would be no apology from Jaime today.

There was no inn along this stretch of road as they approached Deep Den, so the soldiers put up tents for those of noble birth before building up their own fire and rolling out their sleep mats. Brienne would not have minded spending the night in the open, but Alys would not be used to rough living. Alys’s lady’s maid-- Dainis Hill was her name-- fluttered around their great red tent to try and make it more homey. Dinner was prepared by the soldiers around their fire: roast boar sliced and heated in a pan over the fire, cooked potatoes, summer squash cooked in pork fat, and last winter’s squash gone dry and stringy with age. There was bread and sweet cream butter enough for the highborn guests. Brienne would have made due with a fire-roasted hare, but she was no longer the Brienne of those bygone eras. Arthur might have welcomed a hare hunt, but more for the novelty than the need for food. _Summer children_ , she thought. There was no disdain in her thought, though. She had fought to bring the summer, to secure peace, so she could not fault her children for growing in a peaceful world.

They had finished dinner and were returning to the tents when a voice bellowed from the western watchman. “Ho, rider, halt!”

Brienne gripped her sword. She was not in armor now, but her sword was ever on her hip.

There was rustling and speaking and then the shout of “Lady Lannister! Where is the Lady? Cockdon, has she retired?”

A nearby soldier shouted, “Here, sir!”

There was no Lady Lannister here! That was Marleina, in King’s Landing. Brienne’s blood turned to ice when she realized they must mean Alys. She was still just a girl; no one had given her the West or the Lannister name yet. Brienne pulled Alys behind her. Alys’s hand was wrapped around her walking stick, which she knew how to wield with deadly power. _Good girl._

“What do you need?” Brienne asked as a rider approached from the dark. His horse was frothing at the mouth. He dismounted and swayed a bit unsteadily.

“Forgive me, milady, I’ve been riding hard for nearly a full day out of Gateway Forge.”

Brienne did not know of any place called Gateway Forge.

“What do you want with my daughter?” Brienne continued to stand between the stranger and Alys.

His brow rose. “Nothing, milady! I’ve a raven. I’ve been employed by the Hand of the King to get messages into the right hands in these parts.” He passed over a rolled parchment.

Immediately, Brienne saw the wax seal: a prancing lion quartered with the suns and moons of Tarth. She’d had it commissioned herself for this very purpose: so she would know her husband’s seal at first sight.

She snapped the raven from the man’s hand. “I am not Lady Lannister,” she berated him.

Unconcerned, he shrugged. “Raven’s from Lord Tywin’s oldest son. You’re his Lady Wife.”

It was an odd statement coming from someone supposedly loyal to Tyrion. Then again, Tyrion was trying to disentangle himself from the West. For the first time, Brienne wondered if any of the unrest here might have been fomented by Tyrion himself. The thought brought a dull ache to her temple.

The man produced a second raven then, and handed it to the captain of the Lannister guard. “Lord Tyrion asked me to stay on with you. I’ve contacts in these parts in case more ravens are needed, and… he mentioned Lady Lannister might need a political consultant.”

The smarmy man reminded Brienne uncomfortable of Petyr Baelish. He turned back to Brienne and bowed. “Everland Moreland, at her ladyship’s service.”

The commander read Moreland's scroll and nodded. “Any relation to Lord Robin?”

“My uncle,” Moreland replied, nodding.

“You’re not near Oxcross,” the guard said.

“Because I am not my cousin,” the man shrugged.

The guard read the paper again and nodded. “We’re a tent short.”

“I’ve brought my own,” Lord Everland said.

Brienne was not sure what to make of the man. If Tyrion trusted him, should she? He’d brought her Jaime’s letter of apology. Turning, she ushered Alys into their shared tent.

“Is it the apology from father?” Alys whispered.  
Unrolling the parchment, Brienne smiled. “It is, just as I said.” She read again and again. _Mind the snakes_. Was it meant to be a secret message? Such messages were not necessary-- Jaime knew the same dot-writing that Brienne knew. He could have used a needle to write out a warning if he meant betrayers or Dornishmen.

“Dainis,” Brienne said, “Are there snakes in these parts? Dangerous ones?”

“Oh yes, milady. My mother’s brother lost his leg to a snake, he did. They had to cleave it straight off before the poison got to his heart.”

Snakes, then. Real ones. No schemes or secret messages. “Alys,” Brienne said, “make sure to wear your boots while we’re on the road.”

*****

The group made good progress on the second day. Lord Everland rode next to Brienne and tried to coach her on all things Westerlands, but in truth Brienne’s mind wasn’t on his words. In her head, she was composing an answer to Jaime. They were still two days from Silverhill, but Lord Everland said they were quite close to Gateway Forge and so a raven was in the offing.

At their lunchtime break, Brienne was given a fright when she heard Alys shriek from within the nearby thicket. Brienne drew her sword to run the assailant through, only to find Alys prying a wet frog from the bosom of her dress and Arthur laughing riotously. Brienne was about to censure Arthur when Alys brought her stick down hard on her brother’s head. When they set out again, Brien rode in the carriage. Arthur was not put out, though. He pestered the soldiers with questions even while Lord Everland pestered Brienne with facts.

They continued to ride west even as dusk fell, and finally stopped when it was too dark to continue. The soldiers made camp.

“Welcome to Gateway Forge, milady,” Lord Everland said. Brienne had seen nothing to indicate that this was a town.

“Are we near?” She asked.

Lord Everland gestured to the scrubby low hills and sparse vegetation. “There are six families of sheep herders in these parts. That is Gateway Forge.” He pointed yonder where the soldiers were drawing water from a well by the road. “That’s the well.”

It was the only sign of civilization at all. The well, however, made it a good enough place to spy on the Gold Road. Who wouldn’t stop at a well as the climate turned arid south of the Blackwater Rush?

The soldiers set up the tents and made dinner of heated dried fowl and salt, with cabbage roasted over the fire. Once again there was bread and sweet cream butter, but only for the nobles. Brienne found the fowl dry and tasteless and the cabbage undercooked, but it was still one of the best meals she’d ever had on the road.

“My lady,” Lord Everland approached her. “After the watch is set, I will ride back to my home to report to Lord Tyrion. If you would like to send a raven, I would need it soon.”

Brienne nodded. She turned to ask Alys to accompany her into their tent only to see Alys bent over in hushed conversation with Brien, giggling. Brienne decided not to disturb them. She went into the tent. Dainis had already lit three candles and set out a crate with a tablecloth as a dressing table. Brienne dismissed her and sat at the table.

She wondered what to write. She didn’t have Jaime’s clever tongue. She wanted to make a jape to him, but didn’t know the way of it. Finally, she wrote only what she could,

_Jaime,_

_Your raven was delivered by a Lord Everland Moreland of Gateway Forge. The town itself seems to be merely a well. He says he has been employed by Tyrion to guide me in some way. Can you please confirm that he is trustworthy?_

_As for forgiving you-- you know I already have. If I were less inclined to forgive you, perhaps you would be less inclined to wag your tongue without thinking--_

Brienne’s cheeks flamed and she continued,

_But I am fond of other uses for your tongue, so I suppose we are stuck with the status quo._

Brienne found herself smiling, imagining Jaime reading such innuendo from her in a letter. Her groin flushed with the thought of it, and her heartbeat sped up. Gods, this man could make her needful without even being here. Twirling the quill, she finished her letter.

_Lord Everland will send this raven tonight, which means you will have it by sunrise. We will be stopping in Silverhill tomorrow, at the keep._

She paused again. Would this make her sound needy? She bit her bottom lip and continued before she lost her nerve.

_I would not mind hearing from you again in Silverhill._

_Brienne_.  
*****

TYRION

The sun had barely woken when Tyrion was jerked from his own slumber by slamming on his door.

“What?” he called.

Next to him, Marleina moaned.

“Hush, dear, court businesses. I’ll be quick.” He slid from bed, and opened the door, but it was soon jerked from his hand. Jaime pushed past him into the room.

“Who is this jackal you’ve set on my wife?”

Marleina peeped over the covers. “Brienne?”

Jaime and Marleina barely knew each other, but they got on well enough. Jaime bowed shortly. “I’m sorry to disrupt your slumber, my lady, but you understand I don’t take well to scheming as it involves my wife.”

Tyrion pointed to the door to his solar. Jaime obeyed and stormed through.

“What did you do?” Marleina whispered.

“Later,” Tyrion mouthed as he followed Jaime through the door.

Jaime was stomping around the boards and breathing heavily. He had a scroll grasped in his fist.

“Lord Everland Moreland,” Tyrion answered, “has been well-paid to keep Brienne safe.”

“What about the score of men you sent with her? Are they not paid well enough?”

Tyrion sighed and climbed into his chair. His night dress hung open in front, his greying chest hair peeking through.

“Jaime,” he sighed. “Brienne hardly needs men and arms. She’s capable enough. He’s savvy in politics and loyal to gold and power. I have both, and a plan.”

“Were you going to tell me of your plan?”

“I _was_ , but I only just woke up.”

“Well.” Jaime pulled a chair across the floor and sat. “I’m here now.”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “I _assumed_ your main objection to Alys having the West was that she would be seen as Cersei’s daughter. So I planned an introduction between the West and Brienne, an introduction that will leave her adored by the smallfolk. The Lords would be wise to ally themselves with the hero of the smallfolk, wouldn’t you say?”

“What kind of introduction?”

“Nothing awful, I assure you. A detour through several keeps in the north and south, and a tourney, in which she will, of course, take part.”

Jaime was silent for a long time. Then he said, “Why go through all this trouble to get Alys the Rock? I don’t understand it. You wanted the Rock so badly--”

“But it was never mine,” Tyrion injected with a sigh.

“ _You_ are the Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden--”

“I know my titles,” Tyrion cut him off. “But I’ve not visited Casterly Rock in ten years, Jaime. I’ve done nothing to prevent vassals from turning on me, and I’ve given them no reason to stay loyal. I wanted the title, but I found I had no interest in the people. I just wanted… I just wanted to prove Father wrong.” Tyrion deflated. “I’ve done nothing with it but be absent, and in doing so foment war. It should have always been yours.”

“I don’t want it.”

Tyrion laughed. “Now you sound like our king. Whether you want it or not, it was yours, by rights, and now it should be Alys’s. This is my way of undoing a great wrong.”

“You haven’t wronged me in this.”

“Not you, no. The people. The West. They deserve a Lord-- or Lady-- who cares about them more than the realm, who will put their interests above that of the crown. I am not that person.”

“Then have your own children, and leave it to them.”

“Do you think I have not tried?” Tyrion had not meant to tell Jaime that. He had left his brother speechless, and pity began to bloom on that too-perfect face. _Fuck, this is why I did not want him to know. Eight children. Gods._ “Mayhaps it is a sign, or a punishment.”

Slowly, Jaime said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t know, and I didn’t mean to tell you. Listen. Jaime. Look at me.” Tyrion met his brother’s clear green eyes across his desk. “Do you trust me? With the lives of your wife and children, do you?”

Jaime hesitated, but when he spoke it was the truth, his voice tight with emotion. “I trust you would not knowingly hurt them. Even--” He cut himself off, and Tyrion would never discover the rest of that thought.

“Then trust me on this. Alys need not take the West now nor next year, but I am trying to build this foundation for her whilst circumventing a war.”

Jaime nodded. “I would have liked to see Brienne at the tourney, though.”

Tyrion smiled at that. “You know, you can’t be spotted in the West, not yet, not now.”

Jaime’s eyes were downcast as he nodded.

“See you at dinner.” Tyrion sighed.

Jaime stood, bowed by way of apology, and saw himself out.


	6. Silverhill to Hornvale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne wears a dress. Jaime, though he's in King's Landing, still manages to rescue her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is possibly my excuse to write a Brienne/Jaime epistolary story. I just got back from a trip through South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah so lots of geography will feature in this story, which is self-indulgent at this point.

BRIENNE

Silverhill had been an easy ride. As the group cut across the northern foothills of the Gold Range and turned south by southwest, the road flattened. The weather was hot and clear, but a steady breeze coming down the hillsides cooled the party. Small empty gullies told where creeks would be if it were ever to rain. The trees were short and stunted here, no taller than Brienne on her horse.

By the late afternoon, the gray walls of Silverhill were within sight. At the gates of the keep, old Lord Codin Serrat greeted them, bowing low, along with his wife Brigot and those of their children and grandchildren currently present. Brienne’s party was brought to the hall for an uninspired meal of fish, long beans, bread, and cheese. After eating, Lord Everland approached Brienne.

“My Lady? A raven.”

Brienne smiled to herself as she took another message from Jaime. She felt her cheeks heat and she saw Arthur whisper something into Alys’s ear. Alys giggled.

“What?” Brienne asked, more sharply than she meant to.

“Nothing,” Alys said, smiling benignly.

“Time for bed,” Brienne directed Alys. Dainis and the castle servants rushed off to finish preparing chambers. To Lord Everland, Brienne said, “I will have an answer on the morrow. You can send another raven before we leave?”

“Of course, Lady Lannister.”

Brienne’s shoulders tensed at the moniker. She was _not_ Lady Lannister. She knew now that reminding Lord Everland of that was futile. He would continue to call her what he will. He even introduced her as such to Lord Serrat, though without a doubt the old lord knew to whom he was sworn.

Brienne turned to Arthur and Brien. “You are both going to bed as well.” She turned to Lord Everland. “My lord, please report to me if Lord Arthur and Lord Brien disobey my command.”

“Of course, my lady.”

She nodded to the boys. “Bed.”

“Fine,” Arthur grumbled.

Brienne escorted Alys where the servants bid them follow.

“Father’s writing you a lot,” Alys whispered.

Brienne made an affirmative noise in her throat. They were shown to a small but comfortable room on the ground floor of the keep. Dainis had stoked a blazing fire despite the heat. Brienne sat at the desk and unrolled the scroll while Dainis started helping Alys dress for bed.

“What does it say?” Alys asked.

Brienne, already reading, said only, “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

“I’m to be Lady of the West, and nothing in there is of any concern to me?”

Brienne sighed. “Fine. He says Lord Everland has been hired by your nuncle to help us navigate the political instabilities of the region. Nothing else is of import.”

“Oh.” Alys looked disappointed.

Brienne turned to the letter and read it again.

_Brienne,_

_If you thought my tongue clever before, be mindful that I’ve naught to do these nights but think of how I might use it on you._

_Lord Everland is loyal to Tyrion, which is to say that he’s been well-paid, as the loyalty of gold is the only true loyalty in the West. He’s supposed to navigate the politics for you, considering the West is on the brink of war. He wouldn’t dare cross the Hand of the King, so whatever he’s doing is probably at Tyrion’s behest. Tyrion’s ideas are often ambitious. He said something about a tourney. Best you ask your Lord Everland about that._

_Would that I had given you a favor for the tourney._

_Jaime_

She picked up her own quill and wrote,

_Jaime,_

_Lord Everland seeks to present me as Lady Lannister at every opportunity. If it is your brother’s goal to have me seen as any sort of lady, he is too ambitious by far. Next, shall I be forced to wear dresses and take tea? And I don’t see how riding in a tourney would help that case. Mayhaps you are mistaken. Lord Everland said nothing about it._

_For a favor, I have these impertinent blushes your writing flames in my cheeks. You are hopelessly crass._

_Brienne_

That very evening, Brienne was surprised to be proven correct. In unpacking the van, Lord Everland seemed to have ‘misplaced’ Brienne’s satchel. He was all contrite bows as he introduced a seamstress to sew a wardrobe for her. The seamstress, of course, did not know how to make breeches. Brienne could almost hear her teeth grind against each other in frustration.

On the morrow, Brienne saw the fruits of the seamstress’s overnight labors: a small trunk of kirtles, two surcotes-- one sleeved and one unsleeved--, a head wrap for the nights, several clean white linen chemises, and a ridiculous hennin which Brienne would not even deign to carry with her to the next keep. Alys found the entire thing hilarious and could not stop giggling. Brienne vowed that she would find the soldier closest to her in stature and buy his clothes off of him at her first opportunity.

Without recourse, Brienne dressed in a black kirtle and a black sleeveless surcoat with little pink flowers along the trim. So much black-- had someone died?

Brienne held her breath when she entered the hall to break her fast, ready for more laughter. Instead, Lord Serrat and his wife stood, all the younger Serrat children scrambling after them. Lord Serrat looked impressed. He nodded, called her Lady Lannister, and scolded the manservant who failed to pull out her chair at the table’s head. All this, for a dress? Maybe a night of sleep-- or Lord Everland-- had managed to persuade Lord Serrat that he had a guest of honor in his household.

Arthur was barely containing a laugh. She did not fault him. _These little pink flowers alone are like to make me look a fool._ She did appreciate Brien elbowing him sternly, though.

“I hear you are to head north towards Hornvale today,” Lord Serrat said. “That’s a pretty spot, deep in the woods. The pleasant mountain air makes it far cooler than down here on the plain.”

Brienne paused. She was in the midst of eating a delicate white cake with sweet lemon frosting; someone in the kitchens had heard they had a guest of honor, as well. She swallowed her bite whole and tried no to choke on it. Before she could speak, Lord Everland interrupted.

“Yes, Lady Lannister does not know of the plan yet as I’ve only this morning received a raven from the Lord Hand, but His Grade King Jon has asked the Lady of Lannister to visit the gold coast before making for Casterly Rock.”

“He has?” Brienne asked.

“Partly, I imagine, to finish preparations for the tournament there in Her Ladyship’s name.”

“Lord Jaime mentioned a tournament.” She thanks the Gods that Jaime had given her a head’s up on this at least.

Lord Serrat smiled at that. “How fares Lord Jaime off to the east? I haven’t seen him since he was wearing white.”

Brienne smiled. “Well, my lord.”

“What’s he up to now, eight? Children, hmm?” Lord Serrat asked, eying Brien and Arthur as though trying to see which was Jaime’s. Arthur was Jaime’s spit so it couldn’t have been hard.

Brienne hesitated. She looked to Alys. Garrad _was_ Jaime’s eighth, but Brienne knew better than to acknowledge Cersei’s children (among whom she did not count Alys). “Four, my lord, by me.”

“But our young lady here is not by you, is that correct?”

Brienne stumbled for an answer, but Alys spoke first. “I am my father’s natural daughter, my lord, but I was raised from a babe by Lady Brienne, and I’ve known no mother but her.”

“And Lord Jaime’s oldest, he’s squiring for the King now?”

“Yes, my lord,” Brienne answered. “Galladon, who is to inherit Tarth.”

Lord Serrat laughed amiably. “He’s like to inherit one of the king’s daughters, if I don’t miss my guess.”

Brienne did not know what to say to that. She only whispered, “He’s got no eyes for the crown.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean to imply that he did. Just, it’s not every day that a young Lannister gets drawn to court. The King should be lucky to keep him. It might settle the West some, to have their own in line for the throne.”

Brienne drew herself up. “The King would be lucky to keep him, but not because he is a Lannister. He is a _Tarth_ , my lord, and a fine fighter. Honorable and true.”

Lord Serrat grunted. “I doubt you've turned Lord Jaime into such a Stormlander loyalist as you are yourself.”

“Lord Jaime is loyal to those who deserve his loyalty.”

Lord Everland broke in now. “The West will always hold a place in Lord Jaime’s heart.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes at her “advisor”, but he glared back at her. The man had never even _met_ Jaime, but the implication was clear. To win the West, it would not do to make them feel forgotten.

“Forgive me,” Brienne muttered, “Hornvale is a very long way, so I’m afraid we must take your leave.”

Before she left, though, she called on Lord Serrat’s rookery to send one more message to Jaime:

_We are heading north to Hornvale on your brother’s orders. Lord Serrat is as proud of your father. I won’t miss Silverhill. Lord Everland has put me in dresses, not unlike Lord Bolton. As I am no longer a maiden, should I not expect a rescue?_

_Brienne_

When the train was packed, she stepped outside, and discovered the very worst thing about her thick black dress-- the weather was hot. Unbearably so, and before an hour was out, she was in the wheelhouse with Alys, sweating through all her layers. With each drop of sweat cascading down her brow, she thought on how best she might murder Lord Everland. Hornvale, with its pleasantly cool mountain air, could not come fast enough.

*****

From the moment they had begun to climb the passes of Bear Mountain towards Hornvale, Brienne was charmed with this secluded section of the Westerlands. Purple-blue lupine poke through the needle-blankets of the towering Pinyon Pine. The heat had entirely abated.

Hornvale sat in a wide valley between towering mountains. The road paralleled The Red Fork, here at its humble beginnings. Each curve brought into view a mountain spring trickling into a waterfall down the slopes to the Fork. The sunset was casting a green-purple hue along the valley when the train arrived at the brown brick keep.

Brienne found Lord Flement Brax to be as welcoming as Lord Serrat had been prickly. He had his household greet her and called her Lady Lannister, but he also had a servant bring up a box of men’s loose-fitting clothing.

“How did you know I preferred these, my Lord?” Brienne asked.

Lord Brax smiled affably and produced two scraps of parchment. “I’ve had a raven from Lord Jaime, and here’s one for you as well. He asked me to do you this favor.”

Brienne accepted the raven, seeing it was still sealed.

“I remember you at Riverrun,” Lord Brax interrupted. “I was with Lord Jaime on that campaign, as a lieutenant. I remember seeing a man ride in and call for him. Only the guards told me you weren’t a man, and there was a highborn lady alone in the commander’s tent! And then the siege was ended. By your hand, was it?”

“I did not kill the Blackfish, if that is what you are asking.”

“I won’t ask. My wife’s a Frey, so I’m grateful. There were some among the men who’d come over from Renly’s bannermen, and I heard stories about you from them. I refused to believe the less savory ones, though. And then next I know, I was being invited to your wedding! To my liege!”

“Lord Tyrion is your liege.”

Lord Brax waved this off. “I pay my taxes to the golden lion, but it’s Jaime I’d die for. And he, apparently, feels that way about _you_. I suppose you’ll have to take my fealty, whether you want it or no.” He grinned and his eyes twinkled and Brienne thought him handsome in a thin and wiry way.

Bidding him good evening, Brienne opened her husband’s raven:

_I’ve told Flement to get you proper clothes. How is that for a rescue, my lady? You should still wear the dresses or Tyrion will have my head, but for travel, I imagine the breeches are a good deal more practical._

_Garrad walked today. Still holding on to my hand, but I knew you’d be proud. He’s a strapping lad._

_Cat has been brave. She’s not cried once, though I can see she wants to._

_Your father sent that Genna has left for the Rock._

_I miss your dour stomping at my side. If I didn’t have these children to remind me you exist, I’d think you some fae creature I imagined._

_Jaime_


	7. The Poison Tooth; or Racing to Ashemark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days to at the Golden Tooth, two days to Ashemark, and one backstory on Lord Everland Moreland.

BRIENNE

It took two full days to reach the Golden Tooth from Hornvale. Once they descended the mountains, the land grew hot and dry. The ground was flat and plain almost as far as the eye could see. Brienne rode in men’s clothes and promised Lord Everland she would redress appropriately to dine with their next hosts.

Lord Everland took the time to apprise Brienne on the status of the Tooth. Lady Alysanne Lefford, widow of the previous Lord Lefford, had remarried Ser Lawren Turnberry. Ser Lawren’s three children with Alysanne bore the name Lefford, and the oldest, a daughter Gabrelle Lefford, was Alysanne’s heir. She was betrothed to Ser Benam Foote, and to be married within the year.

Brienne had not met Lady Lefford or Ser Lawren, though she assumed they had been invited to her wedding, but had not come.

After the Golden Tooth, they would be two days to Ashemark. There, at least, she would feel herself in the presence of a friend. Ser Addam Marbrand was one of Jaime’s oldest friends. Then they would be on to the Crag, by Faircastle, to Kayce, and finally arriving in Casterly Rock. If nothing, this long trek through the Goldlands was making her believe she would receive respite at the Rock. That might not be so, but she yearned for its unfamiliar halls. If Lord Everland was determined to style her as the Lady of the Rock, at the very least it meant that she would be in control of her own destiny once there.

The Tooth was pleasant in a hot, sandy way. Colorful layers in the rocks sparkled at sunrise and sunset. Between those times one could do little but sit in the shade. Lady Lefford and Ser Lawren were kind, though not overly friendly. When Brienne did dine with them, they plied her with the best treats-- berry buns, eggs, cheese, and pork belly to break her fast; fresh vegetables and baked potatoes and stew for her midday meal; and for dinner there were more vegetables plus fried fowl, baked breads, and so many sauces and creams and spreads she couldn’t tell they apart.

They stayed three days at the Tooth. Brienne met with Lady Lefford and Ser Lawren both regarding the state of the gold mines and the miners themselves. Many mines had closed during the War of the Five Kings, and the ensuing wars, due to a shortage of manpower, decreasing ore reserves, and increasing mining costs. In the years after the wars, destitute and desperate smallfolk had come to the Golden Hills in search of untapped veins. They met with some little success. Both Lord and Lady were proud when they shared that some old mining caverns were coming back into use. A maester had invented a new process to leach gold from rock. This involved mixing rock with a poisonous substance, which caused the rock to “cry” gold. Brienne was horrified when she heard of the deaths of many miners from the chemical mixtures, but Lady Lefford smiled serenely and said to Brienne, “The families are compensated for their lost workers. We take care of our smallfolk.” Brienne doubted the smallfolk felt it an even trade.

And this knowledge-- that all the Tooth’s finery came at the expense of the smallfolk-- tainted the experience for her. She was glad to not in truth be Lady Lannister or she might feel the need to change this arrangement. She wrote thus to Jaime:

_Jaime,_

_The gold here is mined on the back of the smallfolk. The Leffords use a poison to make the rocks cry gold. The poison runs into the streams and poisons the land. The workers die a slow death. How can your brother let this continue? If Alys is ever to claim the rock, she will need to confront such callous cruelty._

_Please do not write to me of the children. It makes my heart ache. I miss them less when I do not need to remember that they are missing me._

_I will be at Ashemark in two days._

_Brienne_

*****

The land between the Tooth and Ashemark was empty, save for mines dotting the far hills. The sun was bright. Brienne’s nose turned pink by the time they broke for lunch on the first day. She was finishing up her salted meat and bread when she heard the children-- for she would always think of them thus-- laughing and japing. She turned to see Alys and Arthur goading Brien. The dark-haired lad grew redder under this attention. He was growing to look much like Podrick had at the same age.

Alys erupted into laughter. Brienne heard Brien say “I dare you” plain as day.

“I’m not afraid,” she sniffed. “I would beat you, I bet.”

“Likely! You’re much lighter than I am.”

Arthur laughed. “You’re not that big, Brien!”

“Bigger than her!” Now Brien was laughing, too.

“Fine,” Alys said, gathering her skirts in her hands. “Point me to her.”

Brien laughed while Arthur looped his arm through his sister’s. In a moment, they were approaching Brienne.

“What’s this all about?” Brienne asked, with only a small amount of curiosity. They would try and drag her into their bet.

“Brien has offered to race me,” Alys supplied

“A foot race? Don’t be silly.”

“A _horse_ race.” Alys drew herself up to her full height.

Brienne was about to remark on the impossibility of it when Lord Everland invited himself into the conversation. “Out of the question,” he boomed with authority. “Your father would roll in his grave.”

Brienne turned to Lord Everland fully. “Her father is not _in_ his grave, he is in the Red Keep, ser. And I don’t believe you’ve ever met him to know his opinion.”

“Just a figure of speech,” Lord Everland huffed. “But I have met fathers of pretty young maidens aplenty. Men like him don’t want their _sighted_ children racing, let alone the blind ones.”

Brienne pulled herself to her full height. “There are no men like him. Alys, you may use Arthur’s horse.”

Alys squealed and jumped up and down, and within moments Arthur was helping her into the saddle and adjusting the stirrups.

“My lady, I am sorry if I offended you, but this is unspeakably dangerous.”

Brienne held up a hand to silence him. “If you wish her to be your liege lady as you say, you would do better not to underestimate her.”

Brien was busy removing excess weight from his chestnut gerund. Brienne herself mounted and approached both horses.

“I will race with you and stop you in case there are any hazards. I’ll ride on ahead a bit, so Alys, race towards the sound of my horse’s hooves.”

Alys nodded with barely contained glee. To Brien she said, “I’m going to crush you.”

He blushed.

“Let’s hope not,” Brienne said. “We want to bring Brien back to his family in one piece.”

“I’m ready,” Alys asserted.

“Me too,” Brien answered.

Brienne nodded and turned her horse towards the open field. All the men had started watching, some whispering, and Brienne was sure that coin was changing hands for a betting pool. “Arthur, when I start, count to three and have them begin.”

Arthur hummed affirmatively.

Brienne could see no barrier or obstacle ahead, so he dug her heels into her horse’s flank and let out the reins. He charged forward; a destrier used to charging into battle. She moved into the gallop, standing to give the horse even more rein. Its long neck stretched out before it. She sunk her heels into the stirrups and enjoyed the brisk pace.

Soon, she heard hoofbeats coming up behind her. They were faster than she was, lighter weight and on smaller horses. They came up on either side of her, and she leaned even further forward, encouraging her horse to catch up. She heard Alys and Brien both laughing giddily. They slowed as they passed her. Alys brought her horse into a smooth canter, and Brienne followed suit. Brien pulled further ahead and then turned his horse around to join them.

“Who won?” Alys asked, breathless with excitement.

Brienne had not realized she was the judge. She had not been watching for who would pass her first. “You did, of course,” she told Alys.

“She did not!” Brien blared.

“But everyone will believe me,” Brienne joked.

Laughing, they all turned their horses and trotted back to the soldiers.

The soldiers, it turned out, were rather more invested in the winner than Brienne had been. Their lookouts all proclaimed that Brien had won. Alys proved a gracious loser, giving Brien a pretty little courtesy and thanking him for the race. Arthur was less forgiving, immediately declaring that Brien’s small frame, slight stature, and lack of muscle made him the winner, obviously. Brien was not tall, but he was not the scrawny figure Arthur painted him to be.

Gayly, Alys climbed back into her carriage, and the boys repacked their gear and mounted their respective steeds. The mood had lifted as they continued west. To think Brienne had almost told Alys no.

“My lady,” Lord Everland rode up beside her. Brienne restrained herself from rolling her eyes, but only just. “I want to apologize. You have… reminded me of my place. I am quite glad I have your better judgement to guide us.”

“Oh don’t,” she sighed. “Don’t put on that flattering air. The truth is, my judgement is no different from yours. I didn’t like the idea one bit until you forbade her.”

Lord Everland looked shocked.

“Look,” Brienne said. “You don’t know my husband. In truth, he would have wanted her to race. I would not. I thank you for reminding me of what he would say, even if it is not what you thought.”

“I’m… I’m surprised,” Lord Everland stuttered. “And, I’m sorry I presumed to know what he would say. I think we may have made a poor start, milady. Can we call a truce?”

_You need trust to have a truce._ “Lord Everland, I want to make clear that I do not trust you. I know you claim loyalty to the Hand of the King, and he says you are trustworthy. In my long acquaintance with Lord Tyrion, his judgement has always been good, but it has never been perfect.”

Lord Everland sighed. “I understand, Lady Lannister, I do, but I _am_ loyal to Lord Tyrion--”

“I would believe it better if you stopped naming me with his wife’s title.”

Lord Everland huffed a long laugh and shook his head. “You think I bear Marleina ill will? Lady Marleina is my dearest cousin. So you see, you and I are actually family.”

Brienne stilled her horse. “You know that I could check your claim.”

“I expect you will. House Moreland and House Drox are neighbors, and my aunt’s husband sold Marleina off to Lord Drox as the price for peace between the houses. Lord Drox was a brute. He hit Marleina, forbade her from seeing us. It was I who killed Rolan Drox, and I don’t regret it.”

Brienne studied him. “And that’s how you met Lord Tyrion?”

Lord Everland nodded. “The Drox household was quite unhappy to find their head murdered-- thrown from a window. They begged Casterly Rock for help investigating, and Lord Tyrion came. He discovered the truth of it. He called it justice for what Rolan had done to Marleina. Then Lord Tyrion wed my cousin. He’s done better by her than Rolan. She seems very much in love. So you see, I owe him a great debt, and I would do anything for my sweet cousin. She is like a sister to me. And what she wants most is to be rid of her title, to be free of Casterly Rock and the entire West, and to have little babes with the Lord Hand.”

Brienne was charmed despite herself. “That is…” 

“House Drox doesn't know it was me, but I gather they know Lord Tyrion knew more than he let on. They have connections, though, and ancient ties to House Greenfield.”

Brienne sat up straighter. “A rebel house.”

“I can’t confirm anything, but if there’s to be war in the West, it’s possible I’m the cause of it.”

They rode on in silence for a moment.

“So you see,” Lord Everland continued, “My loyalty is not in gold, but in guilt. I’ll do whatever Lord Tyrion says will avoid war in the West.”

“Your loyalty seems to me to be in love, my lord,” Brienne countered. “For you dear cousin.”

He smiled ruefully. “Mayhaps a bit of both.” After a silence he added. “The gold also doesn’t hurt.”

“Why not tell me all this up front?”

Lord Everland shrugged. “I didn’t guess you’d trust a murderer. A kinslayer, some might say, though Rolan Drox was naught to me.”

Brienne smiled to herself. “It sounds to me as though you are a defender of the innocent.” She thought of Jaime, of his decision to murder his reputation to save a city. Butterflies launched themselves into her stomach. Her husband, a murderer, and some might say kinslayer, and the most honorable man she had ever laid eyes on. “But if you presume to know the mind of my husband again, I shall leave you at the side of the road without a horse.”

“Yes, milady. I won’t.”

Brienne smiled. “Let us hope not.”


	8. Ashemark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Addam become friends. Jaime and Brienne continue to exchange too cute ravens.

As they slipped into the valley, Brienne felt she had wandered into a different world. Sheer walls of white stone rose up on either side of a small stream. The valley was planted with fruit trees. Small cottages clung close to the road, with nowhere else to be, their backs against the walls. The rock above soared dizzyingly high in domes and towers made by the gods alone.

She looked to the side and saw Arthur and Brien likewise speechless.

They stopped at a little field in the valley. Around them she saw cherry, apricot, peach, pear, apple, plum, mulberry, almond, and walnut. None were ripe yet, but a farmer’s wife emerged from a cottage and offered them dried apples.

The woman curtseyed and said, “Welcome to Pleasant Creek, my lady.”

That was understating the place a bit.

Alys turned to her mother. “Why do the sounds feel so… stiff?”

“The valley has walls. They are monstrously tall, too sheer to climb. They are white and red stone.”

“Oh.” Alys looked startled.

“There are fruit trees of every kind imaginable, here in the valley, and homesteads, and the stream.”

Alys nodded. “I read of this place, but I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect that it would _sound_ so odd.”

They sat in silence, listening to the gurgle of the stream, the chatter of the men, and the song of birds. Listening for it, even Brienne could tell that the sounds seemed to echo.

“Half day to Ashemark, my lady,” Lord Everland announced cheerfully. “We’ll be there for dinner!” Brienne mounted her horse and glanced at the valley. She would probably never be here again, but it seems as unforgettable a place as any she had seen.

*****

The town of Ashe lay at the opening of a great red canyon. The canyon faded into pinyon pines and cottonwoods as Pleasant Creek flowered into the Ash River. The red canyon opened to a grassy valley floor. At the south-western edge of the valley, built upon a craggy uprising, stood an enormous keep: Ashemark.

They bypassed the town entirely and rode the packed-earth trail to the doors of the keep.

A sentry on a tower cried, “Who seeks the Lord of Ashemark?”

Lord Everland responded, “Lady Brienne Lannister of Casterly Rock.”

 _So much bloody pageantry in the West_ , Brienne thought.

The gate began to creak open and they rode the horses into the courtyard. There, smiling welcomingly, was Ser Addam.

He approached Brienne without delay. “Ser, you have never looked more radiant.” He took her hand and kissed it. “May I please present my wife, Lady Ellena. And these are our children,” his arm swept to take in three red-headed girls, “Lenila, Liliyana, and Elison.” The girls all looked of an age with each other. They curtsied as each was introduced.

Addam turned to his wife, “My dear, this is Lady Brienne, the woman who tamed the golden lion. And I see here her oldest, Alysanne, this is Arthur. Boy, I haven’t seen you since before you could walk.” As an aside to his wife he said, “That was just before I met you. I saw these rogues at court. How’s Jaime? And Galladon? And you have two others now, by my count?”

Brienne bowed, feeling odd and awkward in the presence of so many lovely women. Ellena was as red-haired as her husband, slight of stature and demure. The picture of a lady, her hair done in tight braids.

“They are all well, at court with the King at present. Catrisa is eight, and Garrad is not yet walking.”

“Lili, did you hear that?” Addam boomed. To Brienne he said, “She is also eight. A pity Catrisa did not come. They could play dolls together.”

Arthur laughed and tried to hide it, ending in a snort. Everyone stared at him, and he swallowed before responding. “Apologies my lord. CatCat does not prefer dolls.”

“Ah,” he laughed. “She must take after her mother then. I don’t imagine you were one for dolls, _Ser_ Brienne.”

Brienne merely smiled. She had adored dolls as a child, and had dressed them in all sorts of beautiful dresses. The dresses would never look good on her, but they would always fit the dolls.

“Dinner is already prepared,” Addam interrupted her thoughts.

“I should prefer to change, and we all need to wash off some dirt, if you don’t mind, my lord.” Brienne did not think Addam would care whether she wore a dress, but perhaps Lady Ellena would, and Lord Everland would care overmuch. Remembering Lord Everland, she added, “I also need to send a raven immediately.”

“Oh yes!” Addam exclaimed. “Speaking of ravens…” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a scroll. “From Jaime, it arrived yesterday.”

Brienne blushed to receive it from him, and then blushed harder when Ser Addam clearly noticed her blush.

“Come,” Addam beckoned. “I’ll show you to your rooms and you can wash before dinner.”

*****

Brienne put off opening the raven until she had toiled through crafting a coded message for Tyrion. She even brought it to Alys’s neighboring room to ask her to proofread it.

Alys’s fingers set to the dots and she read:

_Lord Everland says that he is your lady wifes cousin and that he was responsible for th murder of Lady Marelina’s lat husbane. You know about this, says he, and can vouch for his trustworthiness that goes beyond that of gold or power. Please confirm. Brienne._

“Umm,” Alys said quietly. “You have a few problems with the letter e, mother.”

“Nevermind. It is good enough that your nuncle will understand?”

“Definitely,” Alys said.

“Alright,” Brienne said, taking it from Alys’s hand.

“What does father’s raven say?”

“I haven’t read it yet.” Brienne felt herself blush again. She had been saving it, like one might save a dessert, to savor it alone later.

“If you’re going to the rookery, though, you might as well make one trip as two.”

Sweet, practical Alys. “You are right.”

“What are you wearing for dinner, mother?”

“A dress, I suppose.” Brienne sighed and went back to her room. She rummaged into the trunk, which had been brought while she was pricking her fingers in code. She had never liked needlework, not ever.

She laid out the black kirtle and a black sleeveless surcoat with little pink flowers along the trim. It had quickly become her favorite for no reason other than the hem was a bit longer.

Her hand dropped to the pocket of her dusty trousers and wrapped around Jaime’s message. Finally, she sat on the bed and pulled it out.

_Wife,_

_You cannot solve all the problems of the world. A slow poisoning is a mercy compared to what men will do for gold._

_There are two children and one young man here who do not miss you at all and have forgotten that you exist in your entirety, I promise you. They do complain for you often, but this is mostly because Queen Sansa throws lemon cakes at them any time they complain of your absence._

_If you are now at Ashemark, you will have ridden through Pleasant Valley. Gods, that place._

_The children may not miss you, but I am aching every day. I awake and remember I will have an entire day without you in it. I train Gally and wish you were here to help. I needle Sansa in the hopes that she will kick me out of the Keep. I drink with Tyrion because it dulls your absence. Then I take myself in hand and find a paltry release. I sleep, I wake, and I do it all again. I tell myself it is a siege and I must have patience, but my heart is starving behind these walls._

_Your Lord Husband_.

Brienne read the letter three times, before setting quill to parchment herself.

_Jaime, you are no better than a whining child. You lived a long life before I was in it. I think you miss having your ego assuaged more than anything else. Give my love to those who have forgotten me, and my condolences to Queen Sansa. I know what it is to put up with your needling. She is the one under siege._

_Brienne_

She smiled to herself and melted her seal onto the scroll. She missed him desperately. And yet, here, in a keep with his childhood friend, he felt somewhat closer than he had before. There was something satisfying in being greeted as Jaime’s wife, as Lady Lannister. What had Addam called her? _The woman who tamed the golden lion._ She thought Jaime would get a laugh from that, and wished she had thought to include it in her letter.

*****

The very next day, Addam approached Brienne as the families were breaking their fast together. “Care for a spar or three, today, Ser?” He asked.

She ducked her head. “You are coming to the tournament?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Then you are trying to know my tells.”

“Nah,” Addam smiled, “Jaime says he has trained all the tells out of you. I just thought you wouldn’t want to go into the melee rusty.”

Brienne _didn’t_ want to go into the melee without practice, but it would not be her weak event. “I’m more worried about the joust, truth be told. It was never my strongest event.”

Addam’s smile glowed. “Then you will joust against me, I hope? And bring the boys-- Arthur and--”

“Brien, Podrick Payne’s son.”

“Why am I not surprised he named his son after you?”

Brienne blushed. “His daughter too, Breonna.”

Addam guffawed and Brienne found herself smiling as well.

*****

_Brienne,_

_You know me too well. Sansa and Tyrion and even King Jon take every shot at my ego they can find, and since when did my armor grow to have so many holes? And then this strapping lad, Galladon, trounces me in the training ring every day. At least the other squires look at me like I’m Jaime the Just come home from the Long Night to train them. Or that’s right, I am. Then again, my ego seems well enough._

_My cock is dying of atrophy, though._

_Jaime_

*****  
[CODED]

_Brienne, Lord Everland should not have shared such information with you. If you were associated with my mistreatment of House Drox, it would undermine Alys’s claim greatly. I assured you he was trustworthy. Please let that be enough. Tyrion._

*****

_Jaime,_

_I know without a doubt your cock has had longer respites than this one. I’ve only been gone a few weeks._

_Addam is a fine friend. He laughs often. We have been training at the joust in the mornings and sparring in the afternoons and then he plies us with fine foods. Brien and Arthur have been acting as our squires. Addam has three young girls, Cat’s age, and they have taken to sitting with Alys at all times. She is teaching them to weave fine lace and reading to them from the books she brought. If she is ever to take over the Rock, she may have three ladies already eager to be her companions._

_Ashemark has been a delight._

_Do you know what Addam called me? The woman who tamed the golden lion, he said._

_Stay strong, this siege may last a while yet._

_Brienne_

*****

_Wife, you are trying to make me jealous. I still have friends enough in the West to kill him should he lay a hand upon my wife._

_Jaime_

Brienne smiled to herself. She knew he was not truly worried of her fidelity, but he likely _was_ jealous of Addam spending time with her. It was an emotion she would spare him if she knew how. He had known enough jealousy for one lifetime, before. But he would survive, she knew. He was nothing if not a survivor.

*****

Brienne’s party, with Addam and some of his men added, left Ashemark early on a sunny morning. They headed farther west now, and a bit north, on to the Crag. It would be one day only if they rode straight and true. The road was wide and flowed with the Ash through the valleys between tall mountains on either side. Where the mountains came close to the river-bound road, Brienne could see waterfall after waterfall spraying down green mountain faces into the stream below. Gradually, the height of the mountains diminished. By sunset, they were once again in a gentle hill country.

“Do we keep going?” Brienne asked Lord Everland and Addam both.

“Yes,” Addam answered. “We are closer than you realize.”

They rounded a hill, and there the river flowed past a squat little ringfort.

“That’s it, truly?” Brienne asked. It was _small_.

Addam shrugged. “Let’s follow the river aways and you’ll get the good view.”

They did so, and indeed, as they crested another hill, Brienne saw that the Crag itself flowed out towards the Sunset Sea like a river. She had never seen the Sunset sea before, and this was as good a time to see it as any. The sun was gone, but the purples and pinks of dusk still lit the sky, tumbling across the expanse of ocean and painting the squat yellow castle in its own sunset hues. It was not grand, no, but it was a pretty little place. As they rode down the hill towards the town and keep, Brienne felt the wind shift and begin to blow out to see in a pattern familiar to her from her youth. Brienne smiled. She had crossed the country, and made it to the western sea.


	9. The Road West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Alys talk love; Jaime surprises Galladon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is delayed. I teach college and the semester started, but once we find a rhythm I will get back on track.
> 
> Also jsyk, Virtual Strides has an Arthritis National Research Foundation virtual charity run where the prize is a medal of the Iron Throne and an Oathkeeper charm! So yes, I've also been training for my first 5K and I am excited to get my Oathkeeper charm soon. (https://www.virtualstrides.com/product/bend-the-knee/) I like to imagine it's implying that Brienne should have the throne, which I think we can all agree on.

BRIENNE

The Lord and Lady of the Crag, Rollam Westerling and his lady wife Emmelyne, had welcomed their first babe into the world less than a moon ago. As a result, they made for aloof and bedraggled hosts, but they were kind and afforded the Lannister van with anything they could desire.

What Brienne and Ser Addam most desired, though, was the Crag’s well-situated tournament grounds. The first morning at the Crag, they jousted with the knowledge that the tournament was racing towards them. Or rather, they were racing towards it along their route to Casterly Rock. Brienne’s muscles were finally beginning to recover from re-learning the joust. She could now at least stand and walk within hours of being knocked from her horse by Addam, and he could boast the same. Still, they were both sweaty and wobbling when they decided to retire for their first afternoon at the Crag.

Brienne, eager for a bath, went straight to her rooms. When she entered, though, she was met with-- a sight. Alys was laying astride Brienne’s bed, Brien leaning over her, his mouth on hers, his hand on her bodice-- which was thankfully still laced.

“Alys,” Brienne barked.

Brien and Alys scrambled apart. Brien, for his part, bent at the waist in deference and ran from the room.

Brienne wished Jaime were here.

“Mother--”

“This is not appropriate--”

“It’s _Brien_ , I love him, and he loves--”

“If someone were to catch you, you’d have to wed--”

“I _want_ to wed him--”

“And you simply cannot-- you need to be modest, or what will people think--”

“I don’t care what people think!” Alys scrambled to pull up her deep blue surcoat.

“You ought to! Highborn women cannot simply take men to bed.”

“Oh that’s rich. Remind me, where was Gally conceived?”

“That was different.” Though in truth, Brienne could not say how, except that she and Jaime were older.

“ _You are a hypocrite!_ ,” Alys yelled, and she ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Brienne sighed. That was all poorly done. Alys didn’t know the castle so she couldn’t simply run out into it. Brienne forgot her bath, allowing herself a moment to wipe her sweaty brow with a wet towel instead, and followed Alys out the door.

Sobbing echoed down the hallway. _I did that. I made her cry._ Brienne followed the sound and instead found herself walking into Lady Emmelyne’s chambers. It had been Lady Emmelyne sobbing, not Alys.

“Oh, I’m sorry my lady,” Brienne bowed to leave.

Lady Emmelyne looked up with tear tracks down her cheeks, her fussy crying babe at her breast. She wiped her face and stood. “My lady. I’m so sorry, I’ve been a terrible hostess--” She hiccupped through another sob and scrambled to pull up her bodice. “I’ve not been sleeping well.”

Brienne sighed. “I’ll warrant you’ve not been sleeping at all. Do you have a nurse?”

Lady Emmelyne sobbed again. “No, my lady… My mother said that a true mother doesn’t hand her babe off to a nurse. The smallfolk do it this way-- But he won’t _sleep_.” Her voice pitched high and frantic with this last word.

Brienne sat near her hostess. “The smallfolk do not do it alone. They ask their mothers, cousins, and sisters for help. You’re alone here without a mother, cousin, or sister, so you have a nurse. Here.” Brienne reached out for the little lordling. Lady Emmelyne hiccuped and passed her babe over.

“Can you remind me of the little lord’s name?” Brienne asked.

“Dextran.”

Brienne misliked the name, but she smiled at Alys’s future vassal. “Lord Dextran Westerling. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The babe stopped his fussing and swiped cross-eyed at Brienne’s face.

“My Lady, I don’t think you can understand. You are such a natural mother and I am such a _failure_ at it.”

Brienne laughed. “I wasn’t born a mother, my lady. I was unwed when a just-born babe was placed into my arms and I was sent off on my own. I was, well, quite lost if I am truthful. I didn’t even remember my own mother well enough to have an idea of what to do. I took a ship home, and there on the ship was the wife of the captain. She took me under her tutelage and taught me to swaddle and nurse and sleep safely with the babe. And then Alys’s nursemaid continued my training. Find a wetnurse with several children and much patience, and she will teach you to be a mother.”

Lady Emmelyne’s pale blue eyes shone up at Brienne with a reverent gaze that ought to be reserved for the Seven. “I wish my mother was as wise as you are.”

“I’m sure she has her own wisdom,” Brienne answered, rocking Lord Dextran.

“Maybe, milady. She used to say it was the fate of children to never understand their parents. Mayhaps I have fallen into the trap.”

From the door, a small voice said, “I think your lady mother sounds very wise.” Alys was leaning against the door jamb. Her hair was askew and her white eyes were reddened with crying.

Brienne handed the babe back to his mother and crossed to her own babe, pulling tiny Alys against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I am,” Alys whispered back, sniffling. “She’s right. You’re the best mother. I know you… I know you’re looking out for me. I just…”

“You love him,” Brienne supplied. “I know something about love.” She stroked Alys’s hair back from her head. “But you’re so young to think you know who you want to marry.”

“I’m the same age as Lady Emmelyne. And she’s had a babe.”

Brienne turned suddenly, seeing how young their hostess truly was. “Lady Emmelyne, what is your age?”

The lady of the Crag looked up from where she’d been watching her babe. “Eight and ten, milady.”

Brienne turned back, smug. “So in two years, you can wed.”

Alys slumped, but nodded.

Brienne laid her arm over Alys’s shoulder. “My lady,” Brienne addressed Emmelyne, “Has the babe eaten?”

Lady Emmelyne nodded sullenly.

“Then please, it’s several hours to dinner. Let us mind the babe while you take a rest. We’ve experience enough.”

Emmelyne was once again favoring Brienne with a look better reserved for the Mother herself. “You would?”

“Of course. Go to bed for a while.”

Emmelyne put up little fuss and agreed to leave the babe with them. Brienne took it as a sign of great trust. Brienne walked Alys to a low couch and handed her the babe. Alys began humming and rocking the little boy just as she had done Garrad not several months earlier.

As if sharing her thought, Alys whispered, “I miss him.”

“Not more than I,” Brienne said. She sat next to Alys. “You will make a good mother, but I beg you not to conceive a child before you are wed. I know I have little standing to ask such a thing, but my own situation was entirely different. I was old and had three failed betrothals to my name. I did not expect to wed. Ever.”

“Truly?” Alys asked, her eyes wide.

“Truly. I asked your father to give me an heir as a-- a favor. As my… as the only man of my acquaintance who would willingly bed me.”

“You didn’t!” Alys blushed. “That's awful. You didn’t even expect that he would wed you?”

“I expected to return home to Tarth disgraced but at least bearing an heir for my father. As for your father…” She tilted her head. “He is a complicated man. I did not truly expect that he could love me as he did… as he had another.”

“I don’t think he’s complicated at all,” Alys supplied, sinking into the cushions with the sleeping babe. “You are his world. He will not be happy to miss this coming tournament.”

Brienne smiled to herself. “No, indeed.”

*****

GALLADON

The squires’ bunk was dark as ink when Galladon was awoken by a hand shoved against his mouth. Galladon jolted awake, his first thought regret that he had not taken a blade to bed. A sturdy man’s weight was pinning him to the bunk, preventing him from even kicking his assailant.

“Be quiet,” a voice whispered next to his ear. A voice as familiar to him as his own. His father’s voice.

Galladon relaxed his body, and the hand came away from his mouth. Belatedly, Galladon was glad he had not thought to bite that hand. What a jape, if he’d taken a chunk of his father’s only hand.

His father whispered once more into his ear. “Pack what you need for a fortnight and meet me by the western gate. I’ll have the horses ready.” And then, like a shadow, Galladon’s father disappeared into the darkness.

When Galladon arrived at the gate with his small satchel, his father wordlessly handed him a set of reins. Galladon strained to see in the moonless night. “Where--”

“Ssh,” his father hissed.

Galladon knew enough not to speak any more. They led their horses along The Hook and then into passages and alleys Galladon knew no name for. They slipped out the River Gate, but his father led them on another winding way along the walls that did not lead to the Kingsroad. At last, this path widened into barely more than a deer trail, and Galladon’s father mounted. He followed suit.

They rode on through a sparse woods for several hours. They cut through a ravine. Galladon’s father stopped them at a stream and dismounted, and Galladon did likewise to water the horses. Looking at the wilderness around, he finally deemed it safe enough to speak.

“Did we… have we committed treason?” He asked his father.

His father’s laugh was high and bright. “Nearly the opposite. We’ve leave to go as long as we are not seen.”

“Cat and Garrad?”

“Uncle Tyrion will watch over them as if they were his own. Mayhaps he’s hoping we get killed and he can pretend they are.” His father winked at him, letting Galladon know it was a jape. Then his father rooted around in a saddle bag. “Here, some biscuits to break your fast. It’s not much, but at least it’s sweet.”  
Galladon took the biscuits without complaint. His mouth still full, he asked, “Where are we going?”

His father smiled at him and then looked to the east where the sky was lighting to pale blue. “We’re going to a tournament, of course.”

“A tournament?”

“Casterly Rock is hosting one for you mother, and I’d sooner lose another hand than miss it. She’s to ride in it, you know?”

Galladon felt his pulse quicken. “You’re not serious?”

“I am.”

Galladon felt his own cheeks stretch in a smile. “We won’t be missed?”

“Apparently, we’ve both taken terribly ill. Or, so says the Queen.” Galladon’s father held up his plain wooden double-hook. “You and I are just two weather-worn travelers on the road. An old man and his son. You ought to at least muddy your jerkin a bit. It’s looking a bit clean.”

Galladon smiled even more brightly and stripped it off. He dropped it to the edge of the stream and stepped on it for good-measure grass stains. Shaking off the detritus, he slipped it back on. “Better?”

“For now. Your hair is too golden, but we’ll be sleeping rough until we get farther from King’s Landing, so I imagine it will pick up its own mud.”

Just for good measure, Galladon wiped his large hands on his dirtied jerkin and then slipped his fingers through his hair.

“I think you are enjoying getting dirty a bit more than is usual,” his father was sharing his wide smile.

“I wish I could fight in the tourney,” Galladon confessed.

“If we don’t make good time, we won’t even see it, I’m afraid. And certainly we _would_ be committing treason if we drew that kind of attention to ourselves.”

“It was just a wish,” Galladon whispered.

“You’ll have your day, as I once had mine. This is your mother’s. Yours is coming soon enough.”

They remounted their horses and turned their backs to the rising sun. Galladon’s birthright was in the east. He knew that. Yet he felt only thrilled to be riding to Casterly Rock.


	10. The Horse and the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Galladon go camping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-typical violence, canon-typical treatment of animals.
> 
> I'm so sorry for the length of time between updates. This pandemic. I'm working extra and also doing the young kids school thing and nothing about it doesn't stink.
> 
> So much love to those who have commented or hit kudos, it is a little sunshine in this thing we call 2020.

GALLADON

For two days, they kept to the woods, sleeping in thickets. It was warm enough to sleep without a fire, and they’d enough salt ham and cold cooked potatoes to keep them. The third day, they rose with the promise of intersecting the road. They would sleep in beds tonight, and dine on pub fare. Galladon could hardly wait.

In the afternoon, though, his hopes and dreams of a warm bed and hot food were all put to rest.

*****

JAIME

The day was pleasantly sunny and warm, and perhaps Jaime could blame the weather for his stupor. He was riding along, trusting the horse to follow the trail. Too suddenly to comprehend, he was flying through the air. He hit the ground thunderously. Though the wind was knocked clear from him, he rolled out of the way by rote. He lay there under the azure sky for a stunned moment. In a battle, he would have been dead in that moment. But this was not a battle. It was hardly more than a damned joyride.

When at least he could breath, he hissed “Fuck,” and staggered to his feet. The gods-damned horse. These beasts ought to be trained better than to throw him at the first sign of a ground squirrel or wind-ruffled leaf.

Then Jaime saw that his horse was not to blame. It was on the ground, screaming in pain, its leg already swollen by a poisonous snake bite.

“Stay back,” Jaime shouted to Galladon. Unnecessarily, as Galladon was still astride his own horse and keeping well back of Jaime’s pain-wracked gerund. Jaime’s horse could not be saved, that much was clear. If Galladon had been bitten, Jaime would have had the grisly task of cleaving his son’s leg from his body to save his life. The image made him sick. But there was no life for a three-legged horse, and no way to save it from the venom circulating through its body.

“Fuck,” Jaime hissed again. The horse was suffering. He approached cautiously and unsheathed Widow’s Wail. In the span of a single heartbeat, he swung hard and true, and the horse lay still.

Jaime turned to Galladon. The boy’s mount had its ears back and its nostrils flared but otherwise stood steadily.

Jaime took some steps towards them and then-- _only then_ \-- did the impossibility of walking strike him. There was no pain, his leg simply crumpled under him.

Galladon leapt down from his mount.

“No!” Jaime called, “Stay with your--”

But it was too late. In the time Galladon had dismounted and rushed to Jaime, Gally’s horse had bolted. Who could even blame the beast?

“Oh my-- oh gods-- I’m sorry,” Galladon sounded small and lost.

Jaime shook his head, but he was not angry with his son. The boy was even less experienced than Jaime had been at the same age. Peace will do that to a child, and Jaime had worked hard to be sure Galladon knew peace.

Instead, Jaime had to consider their options. His ankle was already swelling. There was not much in the way of pain, so nothing was broken. In a day or two, he’d be well enough to walk on it. The dead horse held half of their goods-- some salt ham, a bed roll, a canteen, and Jaime’s own flint and steel, knife-blade hand, and ointment for his stumped wrist. Gally’s horse had the other bedroll, another canteen, and their changes of clothing. Their coin was split between the horses in a fortuitous gift of foresight. Galladon would almost certainly be able to catch up to the horse, who wouldn’t have gone far. But Jaime could not escape the vision of having to slice off his own son’s leg. He heard himself say, “Best if we stay together.”

Galladon nodded as if this was an obvious truth. Gods. Brienne would have called him an old fool and gone for the horse, and she would have been right to do so.

“But we won’t want to stay around this horse much longer. I’ve no idea if shadowcats or bears would suffer tainted meat, but I’d not like to find out.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Not _so_ hurt. I can walk.”

And it was true. Jaime hobbled slowly at Gally’s side for the better part of a mile before he sunk down into the shade of a tree. It was already past mid-day, and he could not go on.

“I should go ahead and get help,” Galladon offered.

“Gally,” Jaime sighed, “if you keep walking on your own, it would take you two days to reach the next village, assuming you didn’t make any wrong turns. You don’t know the way, so that’s not a given. Then supposing you buy two horses, you’d take a day to come back, again assuming you could find me again. Then another day’s ride for us both to find the same village again. That is four days. If instead we camp here two nights, we can both reach the village on foot in the same amount of time-- four days-- and we will not have to separate. And I don’t risk you getting lost in the mountains.”

“Sorry,” Galladon blushed a pretty pink.

“You’ve nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t a bad idea, and even if it were, I’d prefer to hear bad ideas to no ideas at all.”

Instead, they climbed up the ridge a little ways until they lucked upon a pristine forest clearing encircled by birches. The soft green grass waved invitingly at them, and Jaime declared it as good a place to camp as they would find this side of the Seven Heavens.

Jaime also set watches, not because he expected trouble, as they’d not set watches before now. Rather, it had struck him that Galladon was green and needed sharpening. Jaime demanded Galladon make a fire as well. Three hours later, they finally had a little dancing flame. They warmed their salt pork and drained their canteen. Galladon walked only a little ways to find a mountain stream, so they were set for water as well.

Finally, as the sun sank, Jaime took the first watch, and Galladon rolled up near the flame in the single bed roll.

They did not walk the next day to let Jaime’s ankle heal. It was noticeably swollen now. It ached him more this second day, but he kept his mouth shut in fear that Gally would wander off to find help. They had more dire needs now, regardless. They were out of food.

For Jaime, a few days without food was hardly terrifying, but Galladon needed to learn how to find it in the woods. Galladon foraged, and Jaime told him which of his berries were poisonous. Then Jaime set about instructing Gally on the art of snares. Galladon had gone back for the dead horse’s tack--he was using the saddle as a pillow. Jaime helped him strip the stitching for use as cord. He also taught Galladon how to skin and cook the two rabbits they caught that night.

The second day, Jaime’s ankle was no worse at least. Galladon only caught a ground squirrel, but this he skinned himself. He also managed to wrangle a craw-prawn from the mountain stream. Galladon still woke quaking like a child when the coyotes howled at night, but he had come a long way in two days.

The third day, Jaime declared his ankle better and they packed up camp. By mid-day, though, Jaime’s foot throbbed unrepentantly and he had to give up. They found another clearing, this one on a nest of soft pine needles and flanked by mountain larkspur. The stream was much farther now, and Galladon was gone longer as a result. Each time Galladon wandered off, Jaime closed his eyes and tried not to think about the horse, the snake. He couldn’t say why it bothered him so much. He’d been in charge of many men, hiked through woods imperiled with danger many times. But none of those had been his son, and this entire trip had been Jaime’s idea. The trip was a lark itself-- an unnecessary jaunt to Casterly Rock. A holiday.

“I found a copse of duckberries,” Galladon said. He was shirtless, his tunic wrapped like a bag and dripping dark juice. He laid out the bundle and Jaime saw the literal fruits of Galladon’s efforts-- handfuls of plump dark duckberries. Jaime’s mouth watered.

As they sat eating berries and drinking water, Galladon sighed longingly and looked away east.

“Missing someone?” Jaime asked. It was meant as a jape.

But Galladon’s pink-stained cheeks gave him away. “I know you don’t approve,” he muttered.

Jaime sighed. “I don’t even know her, I can’t disapprove of her. And I don’t disapprove of your match on-- personal grounds. I just worry. My father sold his own children for a thimble-full of power. I’ve seen what power makes people into. I don’t…” Jaime clamped his mouth shut on his own words. “I couldn’t stand to see you twisted by it.”

“I don’t _want_ power,” Galladon argued. “I _want_ love.”

Jaime had been sixteen and in love once. That had not gone well for anyone involved. “Do you? Love her?” Jaime asked.

Galladon shook his head. “No. We’re _friends_. I like her company. But if I did love someone, I’d give up Tarth for them. I _would_. Arthur could have it, or Cat, or Garrad. Mother will live a long time after grandfather, so my own children might have it. I just-- I don’t like that you jump to conclusions that I’m planning to marry _anyone_ , or that power would-- I’m-- all I did was--” He was getting confused in his own words.

“Hush,” Jaime said. “Forget it. Mayhaps I’ve overstepped, and for that I am sorry. Princess Aiana is a kind and intelligent young woman, and she will make a good queen one day. In the very distant future.”

“She will!” Galladon said defensively.

“I know she will.”

“She’s not… she doesn’t care about power, either. She doesn’t even _want_ to be queen.”

This did pique Jaime’s interest. “Really? What would she do if she could do anything she liked?”

“She wants to breed horses.” Galladon’s cheeks stained pink again as if he were betraying some deep secret. “She’s been trying to breed them to be faster, and she’s been finding stable boys to race her at the Dragon Pit. When we exchanged letters-- it was always about horses. She always wants my opinion on particular matches she was planning.”

“Oh.” No sweet nothings, then. Husbandry, but of horses and not men.

“I _do_ really like her, but she only ever speaks to me about horses. I don’t think she has any feelings for me.”

“Of course she does. Even if you are only friends, there is clearly affection there. The King noticed it as well.”

“He did?” Galladon’s clear green eyes looked up, and the pink on his cheeks deepened to red and spread down his neck.

“He noticed the letters,” Jaime clarified.

Galladon nodded, but didn’t speak more. Jaime watched him, fascinated at the slow fade of the blush from Galladon’s cheek and neck.

“Well, Gally, I think it’s about time to set some snares for our supper.”

Gally nodded in earnest, and set to work without complaint.

*****

Jaime hobbled into town on the sixth day after the death of his horse, aware that his protective instincts had lost them two days. They had missed the melee at Casterly Rock, and that was a bitter taste on Jaime’s tongue. But he’d still choose to miss the entire tournament to keep Gally safe.

When they arrived in town, they were able to immediately buy two horses for an early morning departure. No one looked askance at them despite the gold they were throwing around. Jaime thought his unaffected limp and Galladon’s stained tunic made their story only too believable. _We’re just a man and his son traveling to Casterly Rock to see the tourney._

After buying and stabling the horses, Jaime bartered with the innkeep for a room. He started the fire in the room’s hearth and sat on one of the two hay-mattress beds. He was going soft himself in his old age; he was looking forward to sleeping on a mattress tonight rather than a bedroll.

“I can head into town for fresh clothes,” Galladon offered. Jaime agreed, because his own ankle hurt too much for the task.

Jaime wanted a bath, but the expense of asking for a private tub would be conspicuous. “Ask the inkeep to send up some water.” He could at least warm a kettle and wash under his clothes.

The maid brought the bucket, and Jaime set it close to the fire to warm.

He guessed he had at least half an hour before Galladon returned. He imagined what had likely happened today on the tournament’s opening day, while he’d been hobbling his way through a mountain pass. She would have emerged from a tent in the field, its banners flapping in the wind. Would she use the standard of Tarth? Would Tyrion’s mouthpiece demand she used the lion rampant? No, his wife’s tent would have borne the quartered red and blue of Tarth. He imagined her crimson half cape whipping, matching the rhythm on the standards. He could almost see her blue-silver armor and Lannister-red half cape dancing in the flames. In the fire, she was holding a morningstar for the melee and not Oathkeeper. Of course-- she’d told him once of Bitterbridge. With a blunted morningstar, her reach outstripped any common man, and the strength she could bring behind each blow would leave her foes stunned. She had likely batted them away, one by one. In the flames he saw Brienne facing off against Addam Marbrand. Addam was strong and straightforward and she blocked his advances until she landed a blow to his shoulder. Flement Brax might be that lick of flame over there-- shorter than Brienne and half as wide in the shoulders. His overconfident and underpowered advances were not a match for Brienne. That was an easy victory. He laughed when he fell.

The next lick of flame formed and Jaime remembered Ser Dextran Sarsfield. A simple kick would bring him to the ground, if the old bastard even had the balls to face her. Ser Kennos was solid as a stone. He didn’t have much reach, but Jaime watched him stand Brienne’s blows for a few moments. Her meaty swings hit Kennos in time to the rippling of the flames. Forley Prester was a knight now; she swatted him away in righteous anger. If he were there in the field, one-handed and muddy, he would hold off against her blows longer than most; he knew how to plant his feet. Eventually he would fall upon his knees and whisper, “I yield.” She would win the melee, and fall to her own knees, and crown him king of love and beauty with her lips upon his.

Galladon came through the door and Jaime gasped, torn from his flame-addled stupor. He stood and wiped sweat from his brow and cursed himself for missing the melee. But mayhaps the gods had intervened. If he had seen her on the field as he had imagined her, he would have been powerless to go to her. She was the only god to which he kept, and he could not be prevented from worshipping at her feet.

The kettle was hot. Jaime did not know how long he had been staring into the fire. He took a cloth and wiped the dirt from his body. He was eager to meet with his deep dreams this night.


	11. The Joust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climax (of the plot!) is here. Two of the scenes in this chapter at the reason I wrote the fic, and you will immediately know which they are. It's all fan service to myself and I don't care. Jaime and Brienne reunited!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only edited this once (rather than my usual four times) because I'm trying to stop being a perfectionist in exchange for getting chapters out more quickly. Not editing it four times makes me feel especially vulnerable for some reason. You may find a mistake or three.
> 
> CW: There is one sentence that contains canon-typical bigotry against the notion of a person being intersex. This statement exists to remind you what a terrible guy the guy saying it is. Not everyone looks like a high school biology textbook.

JAIME

Jaime descended the stairs to the bar room below. He extended his arms over his head, linking his hook and hand to stretch. He was well rested. The straw mattress at this inn did not disappoint after nights on the cold hard ground. Even his ankle felt better for the sleep. Galladon, with two good hands, was packing their gear.

Jaime sat a few stools down from the only other patron at the bar and ordered breakfast for himself and his son. The barkeep worked efficiently and quietly. The other customer seemed to be a local. The barkeep grunted most of his replies, but one he did speak, referring to the customer as Darrik

The door swung open and a second man came in. “Morning Byrron,” said the barkeep.

“Morning Ed,” said Byrron. “Darrik.”

Byrron sat near Darrik, and the barkeep--Ed-- poured a stout for the newcomer. Jaime supposed it a typical small town morning, though he had never lived in a small town or known anything smallfolk would consider typical. The barkeep placed a plate of eggs and bran cakes, with sweet cream butter and maple syrup, in front of Jaime. A tankard of stout came next. He set a similar plate at the empty seat next to Jaime.

Galladon clomped down the stairs and sat next to Jaime, digging into his breakfast with the enthusiasm that can only be mustered by a growing boy.

The men were discussing town gossip, or something of the sort.

Suddenly a wiry, balding man burst through the door in a flurry of excited agitation. “We’ve had the courier from the Rock,” he announced.

Jaime’s ears perked, and he noticed that Gal’s did as well.

“I reckon most people in this town will be a whole lot poorer,” the balding man said. “Who did you have, Ed?”

The barkeep eyed the balding man uncomfortably. “The Lord of Ashemark. You’re not going to tell me he lost?”

The original patron--Darrik-- laughed. “‘Course he did. Ser Addam’s _old_ , too old to win a melee. I had my money on Ser Lurs Estren. I don’t suppose he won?”

The messenger shook his head.

“Well, shit,” Darrik said.

Byrron turned with a smile. “I expect _I’ll_ be collecting, then.”

“Who’d you have?” The messenger asked.

“Ser Kennos.”

The messenger laughed merrily. “I’m telling you, no one’s going to be buying ale tonight. Don’t think anyone in town put money on the winner.”

“Who won?” Darrik demanded with an edge of anger.

“The big bitch.”

Jaime’s heart leapt. Here was confirmation that Brienne had won the melee, uttered in the same breath as disparagement of her person. Jaime was too jubilant to be so easily offended on his wife’s behalf. He smothered his grin in his eggs.

“The who?” Darrik asked.

“You know, Lady Lannister.”

“Lady Lannister?”

“Not that one. Ser Jaime’s wife. They say she looks more man than woman. The rider said he’d never seen a woman so big. She can’t be a man though ‘cause she’s birthed a litter of cubs, so’s they say, so she must at least have a cunt.”

“Must be some kind of amazing cunt to tempt Ser Jaime,” Byrron muttered.

“Maybe she’s got both,” Darrik laughed. “I heard from a Pentoshi sailor that he’s seen one of ‘em.”

“Cunt or cock, she’s also as ugly as the back side of a hog, so’s they say. Cunt ‘o gold couldn’t tempt me.”

“Ser Jaime should know from a golden cunt,” Byrron muttered again.

Jaime was going to let it slide-- let it all slide. He was supposed to remain hidden. But he happened to look to his side and see that Galladon had become very red in the face. It was possible Gal was going to say something. Jaime understood-- there was a time when he’d happily punch anyone who spoke such a way of Brienne. But one could only throw so many punches in one’s life. Nevertheless, Jaime didn’t guess that Gal would handle this situation as well as he could himself, so he was obliged to step in.

Quietly, he said, “Best hope no Lannister is around to hear you speak so of their kin.”

Darrik laughed hardily. “I don’t think there’s _ever_ been a Lannister in this town.”

Jaime looked up and happened to catch the barkeep’s eyes-- he saw they were _frightened_. The man’s face was pale. Mayhaps Jaime had not been as subtle as he thought. He knew he’d overpaid for supper-- but had he overpaid so much as to raise this man’s suspicion?

“That’s good,” Jaime said. “Though I’d be surprised if there had truly _never_ been a Lannister here. If you want to get from King’s Landing to Casterly Rock without being seen, it seems this village would be exactly in your path.”

Thye balding messenger chirped at this. “My missus said she and her sister seen Ser Jaime when he was less’en twenty coming through this town.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Not _never_ , then.” He brought his right hook down hard on the bar top. Wood struck wood with melodious resonance. Byrron had gone grey. “There you have it, you should be careful, because none of you seem armed and I’ve no doubt Ser Jaime could defeat all four of you even if he has one hand. But that hardly seems sporting. Did you know he has a son who’s squiring for the king? It might be more fair to let the lad take you four.”

Galladon stood, towering over where Jaime still sat casually astride his stool. Galladon looked every inch his mother, shoulder squared, jaw taut, hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Now, now,” Jaime said to Gal. “Luckily for these men, the town doesn’t see Lannisters but once every twenty years.” Jaime stood, putting himself between Galladon and the men. They seemed to be understanding. Well, maybe not Darrik. He still wore a self-satisfied sneer.

“Certainly there haven’t been any Lannisters here today.” Jaime slid Widow’s Wail a couple inches from its scabbard to let the red and black of Valyrian steel speak for him.

Darrik tumbled satisfactorily right off his stool, akimbo onto the hard plank floor.

Jaime smiled down on the man. “Certainly if Ser Jaime were here, he’d be honor-bound to see your demise. So, as I said, it’s your lucky day.” He dropped his sword back into his scabbard and tossed two Dragons on the bar-- easily twenty times worth the cost of their meal. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse a man and his son. My wife is sure to be eager to see us arrive safely, so we better get an early start.”

He gestured to Gal, who easily shouldered both saddle bags and left, but not without glaring at the men warningly all the way to the door. Jaime did not glare one bit-- he smiled amiably, and was sure he saw a dark stain spread down Darrik’s trousers in response.

Once the door shut behind them, Galladon grumbled, “You should have let me kill them.”

“We’re not supposed to be here.”

“They might tell--”

“They won’t be telling anyone anything. But if they did, who would believe them?”

They entered the dark barn and tacked up the horses they’d bought the night before.

By the time the Sun was fully up, they were well out of town.

*****

JAIME

They approached the rock at dusk. They had been seeing a steady stream of riders for a couple hours now, going in either direction, and no one paid them any mind. The sloping dry prairie took them up an incline. Jaime kept a hale eye on Galladon, eager for his son’s reaction. The place was spectacular, at the least. When they reached the crest of the knoll, they could see clear across the tourney grounds. The short green grass was churned up with mud. Tents and silks of every color filled the valley, and people buzzed around like ants on a mound. Int he distance, the tourney field ended abruptly at a solid hill of tawny stone that rose unceremoniously from the land around it. You couldn’t see the ocean from this approach, but you could hear it like a distant roar. The Rock itself looked enough like a sitting lion that ancient carvers had only a little work to do. A cavern opening roared from its mouth. Jaime knew the space to be big enough to move siege engines through, though from his hillock it looked little more than a small crevice in the Rock.

“Is-- is that Casterly Rock?” Galladon asked, clearly shocked.

It was not beautiful, to be sure. But it was singular. It seemed the gods had put this roaring stone here for a purpose. Impossibly, the ground sloped up sharply at the base of the Rock, making the single road through a sharp field of strewn stones the only reliable main approach. Of course, Jaime knew other approaches-- caves at the sea that met slot canyons-come-sewers, or a few steep and treacherous side entrances where carving and erosion had partnered for purposes long lost to history.

But none of this mattered-- they would not approach.

“Remember,” Jaime said, we’re here to watch. He pointed to the tent-- red and gold silk, but flying the unmistakable Tarth banners. “Your mother will be there, and we will camp--” he pointed to the opposite side of the field, “There.”

Galladon’s jaw clamped. “This is stupid,” he said. “We don’t even have a tent! We have one bedroll! We could sneak into Mother’s tent or into the Rock--”

“Jaime and Galladon could, yes, but we are not them. We are just a man and his son come to see the tourney.”

Galladon couldn’t hide his sigh this time.

Jaime fished into his purse. “Buy a frugal tent and bedroll, then. I’ll find a likely spot.”

Galladon nodded and led the horse down the slope.

Jaime hesitated a moment. How long had it been since he’d been here? The roar of the waves filled the valley now that the roars of the crowds had quieted for the night. Jaime had slept with that sound in his nursery, had held his mother to the comforting howl of wind and waves. There was nary a quiet place within the Rock, and any who stayed here understood the Lannister words. He should have felt _something_ , approaching like a commoner down the gate road, unseen by the swells of celebrants. He did not feel drawn to the dwelling of his youth, though. Instead, he felt as though the red tent had eyes, watching him. If they happened to be blue as sapphires, he did not look to know.

*****

JAIME

Three days passed with Jaime and Galladon living in obscurity. None recognized them as they muscled towards the fences to watch the joust with the other commoners. They cheered and jumped as much as the next fellows, but no more. They took their food at the food stalls, and bedded down in a small brown tent. The tent next door housed a passel of lads Galladon’s age, and the noise of the boys’ drinking and hollering kept them up half the night.Galladon didn’t seem jealous. In fact, he seemed mostly annoyed. He was an old soul even at six and ten.

On the final day of the joust, Jaime couldn’t sleep for another reason. The lists had steadily waned, and today a champion would be crowned. He felt as though he were jousting himself. His blood hummed with anticipation. He hoped Brienne would find more rest than he did.

He and Galladon were up before dawn. Their plan was to set off for King’s Landing this very night, after the joust was determined. Tomorrow would be the archery competition and then the pageant as a closing ceremony, neither of which interested Jaime or Galladon. They took down their tent and shared a breakfast of dried nuts and fruits without a fire. They’d put up their horses elsewhere, and would collect them after the joust-- likely with half a thousand other travelers who hoped to leave after the most thrilling events were played out.

At the pageant, the Champion of the joust was to dance with the Queen of Love and Beauty, and Jaime would not stay to hear the snide remarks from the smallfolk-- whether Brienne won or lost the joust, there _would_ be snide remarks. He’d rather spare Galladon more disillusionment.

Finally, they paid some young boy to watch their things as they jostled for a view of the tourney field. Here with the smallfolk, the smells were overpowering and the pushing and shoving non-stop, but Jaime was tall enough to usually manage a good view. Galladon-- at six and ten-- was of a height with Jaime.

In the first round, Ser Lurs Estren tilted against old Ser Garth Greenfield. Jaime recalled Tyrion saying someone was trying to raise Greenfield to Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. Jaime knew Garth of old. The man was personable and king, if too serious for Jaime’s taste. But he had never seemed traitorous. Hopefully he’d told those insurgents to fuck off.

To Jaime’s astonishment, Ser Lurs won. That old pisspant Darrik might not have been entirely brainless.

In the second round, Addam unseated Ser Lurs quite easily on the very first pass.

Brienne rode in the third round against none other than his own old squire Peck-- now Ser Josmyn. She unseated him on the third pass, and Jaime cheered while many of the men around him groaned. Evidently Tyrion’s work to ensure the West’s love of Brienne had not gone as well as hoped. Most likely, men did not want to see a woman win. Whether they were afraid their cocks might fall off, or their wives may take up arms after the Lady’s example, Jaime could not say.

Brienne rode again in the fourth round, this time against Ser Juran Yew. She tottered on the first pass, but unseated him on the second.

Finally, it was time for the final round-- wherein Addam would face Brienne. Jaime and Galladon had both forgotten to eat a midday meal. The sun was westering slightly. The men cheered for Addam boldly, and it only made Jaime and Galladon both cheer all the more boldly for Brienne. The crowd pressed around them, roaring like lions, but they were the only real lions here. The opinions of the crowd were meaningless. The better rider would win, and Jaime felt his breath catch in his throat as they made their first pass.

Both seemed to anticipate the other, and so, both lances missed. Jaime laughed heartily. Addam had a tell in the joust, and evidently Brienne had learned it. She _also_ had a tell, and he seemed to have learned it. But Jaime knew she had another trick up her sleeve. He had long ago warned her of her tells, and she would not make it so easy for Addam the next pass.

And so she didn’t. The tilt of her head-- her tell on the joust-- was missing from this run. Addam moved late, and Brienne’s lance shattered against his armor. Jaime hooted, jumping up and down.

Finally, the third run came. A trickle of blood could be seen under Addam’s greave-- a splinter no doubt. He bowed to the lady, and she bowed back, before they took their positions. The crowd held a collective breath, and then the hooves of the horses were joined with the swell of the onlookers’ voices.

“Ashemark, Ashemark,” they chanted to a man.

Jaime watched as both lances struck true, but Brienne-- her thigh muscles tightening around her steed-- stayed a horse, while Addam went sailing. Jaime felt as though he himself had won. Where the men around groaned in defeat, he roared in victory. He turned in breathless laughter to meet his son’s jubilant eyes. The entire trip had been worth it, for this pristine moment.

The box was cheering as well. Jaime could make out Alys and Arthur and Brienne, plus a few Lannisport Lannisters, wives, and assorted kinfolk.

Someone draped a circlet of red begonias over Brienne’s lance. Addam was speaking and she appeared to be nodding along. Would she crown Addam, then? Visor down, she turned her horse in a half circle. She was riding a slow victory walk around the ring. The crowd was moved to cheer for her-- a champion is a champion, in the end. Her horse stopped at intervals, and the crowd cheered. Then at his segment of the fence, her lance dipped-- _Shit._

He had not moved, had not tried to evade, and in truth had not even thought to do so. The crowd parted to see the man who wore the scarlet crown. Jaime tilted his head up to keep it aloft and moved towards the fence as though entranced. He shrugged and climbed over. The game was over now. The Queen would be… Sansa. She would probably claim to have warned everyone of this outcome. Jaime could not care less.

Had he dreamt of this? In a moment, Brienne was off her horse and Galladon-- when had he climbed the fence?-- was leading the steed away. Brienne pulled off her helmet. The crowd’s whispers swelled to a crescendo and he began to hear chants of _Ser Jaime_ as a few keen onlookers guessed at the identity of the one-handed man the Champion had crowned.

“You won,” Jaime whispered, his fingers climbing to brush the sweat from her brow.

“You came.” Her voice trembled.

“I dreamed of you,” he whispered, before pulling her face down to his.

The inconstant crowd erupted in roars of triumph. The smallfolk were fools who blew in the direction of any wind, but Jaime would not censure them. He had his wife in his arms, after weeks of separation. He smelled of begonia and she tasted of victory and sweat. And tonight, tonight, he would teach her how to roar.


	12. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime spent some quality time together before the post-tourney feast. Then they make speeches.

JAIME

Jaime was not surprised to find that Lord Everland was a joyless and nervous man. Upon Jaime’s appearance, Everland sent no less than five ravens to Tyrion.

As the sun set on the final day of the joust, Jaime sent everyone away from Brienne, after calling for a bath and food for his spectacular wife. He took off her armor and pushed her into the warm tub of water. While she settled boneless beneath the steam, he sat nearby.

“So,” he asked her, “How do you find the Rock?”

“I… haven’t been inside the walls yet,” Brienne answered quietly.

“You haven’t… what?”

“We got here as the tournament was about to begin, and no one’s invited me inside. The tent suits me fine, Jaime.”

He stood. “Seven hells. You’re _sleeping_ on the tourney field like a _visitor_?”

“I’ve had this discussion with Lord Everland half a hundred times already. I _am_ a visitor.”

“You are not! Has it occurred to you that my kin have not invited you inside the Rock because they haven’t the authority?”

Her eyes opened and slid to him. “Why wouldn’t they have the authority?”

“Half of these Lannisport Lannisters-- no one invited _them_ in. They’re little better than squatters in Tyrion’s home.”

“The castellan--”

“Yes, yes, Lucion is a good enough Castellan, and I might have chosen him myself-- but he’s invited nearly anyone who shares a drop of his blood into the Rock, as far as I can tell.”

“So they _are_ invited,” Brienne parried.

“But not by the Lord of the house.”

“I was not,” she reiterated.

“Oh, do stop this self pity. It’s unbecoming, Brienne.”

“How dare you--”

“What’s the real reason you’ve stayed outside? Is it Alys? Do you not want her inside?”

“If you want to fight, leave me in peace.” Brienne slipped deeper into the bath water until only her face and knees protruded.

“Is it Cersei?” The name echoed like a ghost in the dim tent.

Brienne didn’t answer.

Jaime sighed and walked to her, kneeling down. “Brienne. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

Brienne shook her head. “I can’t say.”

“You can tell me anything--”

“I’m not _keeping_ something from you. I mean _I don’t know_.” She sat up straighter again. “It felt wrong… to be here without you. To see your childhood home without you. It wasn’t Alys, or-- or your sister.”

Jaime noticed how Brienne had skipped over her name.

“When the tournament ends, we move into the keep.” Jaime decided.

Brienne nodded and started rubbing herself red.

Jaime took the sponge from her clenched fingers. “You were amazing. I’m sorry we missed the melee.”

“Galladon said you hurt your leg?”

“A sprain, it’s fine now.” Jaime lathered soap through her hair.

“I thought the Queen didn’t want you here.”

“She doesn’t,” he laughed, “But if she hasn’t learned by now how foolhardy it is to keep us two apart, she is beyond help.”

Brienne smiled warmly at this. When she had rinsed her hair, she rose from the steam and wrapped in her linens to dry.

Jaime untied his trousers.

“Oh-- if you want a bath we can send for fresh water,” Brienne said.

He grinned. “I’m not undressing for a bath. I’ve been weeks without my wife.”

He reached out and slid his hand down her arm. Conveniently, this caused his untied trousers to slide towards the floor. _Ah, the perils of having only the one hand._

Her skin was soft, so soft. He pulled at her linens and she let them fall. His hand moved to entwine with hers-- her hand was _not_ soft-- it was rough and screamed of toil. Scars dotted her smooth body, the same as any other knight might wear. He kissed her. Her lips were chapped. The bottom one was starting to split in the middle. Jaime ran his thumb over Brienne’s cracking knuckles and calloused palm as he tasted the blood of her lip. This was the only woman he would want, this walking contradiction, this boundary between mother and warrior.

Forcefully, Jaime pushed her towards the low cot with its feather tick mattress. He stroked the softest part of her he knew-- her inner thigh. She whimpered. His wife.

He was hard and she was whimpering and he wanted to be inside her. His hand held hers even while her other hand guided him to her entrance.

“My-- oh,” she sighed as he entered her. Jaime heard her meaning. He had been missed.

He’d wanted to draw out her pleasure and make her scream tonight, but he found himself without the patience. Tomorrow, perhaps. Tonight, her legs were wide and she smelled of victory. He dragged her orgasm from her before he came inside her. They collapsed boneless.

Brienne stirred first. She rose to clean herself.

“Will you need moon tea?” Jaime asked her broad back in the candlelight.

“No, um, I haven’t bled.”

 _Good_ , Jaime thought. He knew Brienne misliked the taste of moon tea, but he’d not be letting her sleep alone any time soon..

Brienne turned back to him, unselfconscious. She dimmed the lamps, found the blankets, and fell back onto the mattress. She had not thought to dress. Their naked bodies tangled, and Jaime wished he was young enough to be ready again, but alas, he wore more wrinkles than gold these days.

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered in the dark. “I have something to tell you, but I know you will be angry.”

Jaime stiffened.

“Alys had already spoken to Tyrion, as you know, and she is determined. It's not all her generosity of spirit. She _wants_ the Rock. Desperately. She doesn’t want to be a bastard spinster in the Stormlands. She wants to be Lady of Casterly Rock, and to wed Brien, and to make you proud.”

“She’s too young to know what she wants,” he growled.

“You were too young to decide to join the Kingsguard, but how would you have felt if your father had kept you from it?”

“I don’t care if she hates me, so long as she retains her freedom.”

“Hate is also a cage,” Brienne whispered.

“You think we should allow this?” Jaime hissed.

“I don’t think you can keep her from it. Tyrion is on her side, and… and she has too much of her mother in her. I think that is what frightens you.”

Jaime’s reflex was to insist that Brienne was Alys’s mother, but his mouth went dry. Brienne had hit upon some truth.

“I am afraid,” he admitted. “I am afraid both of her ambition and of her inexperience. I am afraid she will realize her mistake too late to escape.”

“Like you and the Kingsguard?”

Jaime nodded.

“But this is different, Jaime. Kingsguard serve for life-- or did. If the Ladyship is not to her liking, she will have the authority to pass it to another.”

It was true. Jaime sighed. “What of this idea of marrying Brien, though. Marriage is for life.”

Brienne laughed. “I am very pleased with it, actually. If we were to leave her here alone, every man in the Kingdoms would be vying for her hand. To be the next Lord of Casterly Rock! If nothing else, I know Brien does not wish to marry her for ambition, but rather for affection. Whether or not that affection lasts, none can tell. Certainly not you.”

Jaime grunted. He would have wed Cersei at ten and six without a second thought. Then again, if Cersei had been the sort of person to accept the offer of eloping to Essos for love, mayhaps it would have worked. But no, she’d been someone else entirely, someone different from the woman Jaime thought he knew.

“I think it will be to her liking, and I think that frightens you more,” Brienne said.

After a long silence, he answered, “I can’t… I wasn’t able to stop her, not when it mattered, Brienne. If not for you, I would have stood by her until my very death. I would have watched her become Aerys, and myself Rhaella, and I would have done _nothing_.”

Brienne was stroking his hair as though he were her pet. He resented how lovely it felt, how much he enjoyed being subservient to his lover at times. Cersei had used that to her advantage. _Brienne will never take advantage of me._ She’d proven the truth of that many times.

“Do you trust me?” Brienne whispered.

“With every fiber of my being,” Jaime told her nothing but the naked truth.

“Then trust that we’ve raised her right, Jaime. Trust me to judge her truly. Alys will never be Cersei. You can put that fear into the grave with the woman herself.”

Jaime hummed. Brienne’s words seemed to soak into his skin. She was giving him permission to end his vigil when he hadn’t known he’d been keeping one. Somewhere, he truly had feared that Alys might transform into Cersei. Jaime knew he wouldn’t be able to stop his daughter, if he hadn’t stopped his sister. Brienne’s words brought him a peace he didn’t know he’d been longing for.

“I trust you,” Jaime whispered. He remembered a different time, when he had said those same words and meant them no less than he did now.

“I know,” Brienne whispered into his hair. He slipped to sleep with her arms around him.

*****

On the morrow, Jaime sat beside his wife and family in the lord’s box. He insisted on donning his red flower crown, earning him many pink-cheeked eyerolls from Brienne. It was worth it for those alone.

Arthur gave Jaime a thorough play-by-play of the melee as they watched rounds of archers. Alys appraised him about the various stops they’d enjoyed on their travel to the Rock. Galladon caught his siblings up on the unexpectedly eventful journey he and Jaime endured in a mountain pass. When Jaime’s verbal dressing-down of the tavern dwellers came to light, Brienne dropped her head, embarrassed. “I am sorry Galladon had to hear such talk,” she whispered to Jaime.

“Don’t say that,” he answered with unnecessary harshness and perhaps an edge of frustration. “Don’t you ever apologize for the words of such men, Brienne. It is not your fault that men are idiots as often as not.”

She blinked up at him, and he swore it may have been a little coy. “Are you an idiot?”

“Me? No,” he tapped his flower crown, “I am the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

She laughed at him, and it made a warmth run through him that blossomed in his chest. He kissed her hand.

*****

BRIENNE

The pageant and dance were to follow an extravagant feast held on the tourney grounds. All participants in the tourney and their immediate families were at the long table. Brienne sat at the head of this assemblage of landed knights and lords, most with ladies at their side. In deference to Lord Everland’s advice from Tyrion, Brienne wore a gown. It was dark blue silk with tiny white pearls like stars stitched on the bodice. They had not always been there, though-- that had been a surprise from Alys. A white cape warmed her against the chill spring evening, held together by a brass brooch of the Tarth sigil.

At her right sat Jaime. From the Rock he’d been brought a clean tunic and gambeson along with pristine black boots and trousers-- his own, he’d told her, from his youth. She marvelled that the clothes fit him as well now as ever. She knew he kept in physical shape, but to remain so untouched by time was surely a form of magic. He wore a black wool cloak, though the inside was lined with golden silk. At each shoulder the cloak was held with clasps that matched her own brooch.

Atop his silver-gold hair, lay the stupid grown of begonias, wilted from a day in the sun.

All eyes turned to Brienne as she rose to address the assembly. She tried not to look at Jaime, knowing it would seem a weakness to appear to consult her lord husband when speaking. She was nevertheless extremely aware of his proximity. He was happy and relaxed, but would he be so carefree after her speech?

Lord Everland had coached her for days in preparation for this event. This was to be the moment. She had discussed it with Jaime the night before. She had worried that he would rage at her. Instead she’d brokered a sliver of his acceptance; she wished to be worth his trust.

“Lords, ladies, knights, and renown fighters from the West and beyond. You have welcomed me to your lands as though I was your Lady, though I am not. I am sworn to Storm’s End. But among us sits someone who has, I hope, embodied some of the virtues you see in me. Someone whose parents and grandparents all bore the surname Lannister. She has in her blood all your houses.” Brienne looked at the lords attending: Marbrand, Brax, Crakehall, Swyft, Prester-- houses of the West who had long married into the Lannister line. “And in her heart, she has mine. Lady Alys Lannister,” Brienne waved to Alys and sat.

Only then did she sneak a glance at Jaime. He was carved of stone beside her, but he caught her glance and tried to smile. She appreciated the effort.

Alys rose. “Lords, ladies, and warriors. I may not see with my eyes, but my heart tells me you are fair of character. My uncle Lord Tyrion has decided to retire without issue, and as such has asked me to step in as Lady of Casterly Rock and Wardeness of the West. I was hesitant, I admit. To this minute, I have never stepped inside of the Rock.” She laughed and a few conspiratorial chuckles joined her, probably by people hoping already to fall into her good graces.

“But though the title be Lady of Casterly Rock, it would also be as Wardeness of the West, and I do not need to see the inside of a castle or keep to know whom I serve.”

Brienne reflected on Alys’s natural grace at public speaking. She had not needed to be coached by Lord Everland.

“The King has agreed to legitimize me as a Lannister.” She sighed. “My parentage is an open secret of which I am sure you have heard. The name of my birth mother is whispered behind cupped hands, whether you fear to offend me or whether you fear I am her specter, I cannot guess. But let me assure you-- I shall never be offended by the truth, and I shall never stray from the paths of honor and justice taught to me by the Lord and Lady of Tarth.” She bowed in their direction. “My parents.”

She paused for a long moment. “I am sure you are warriors, mothers, and maids, and you follow such gods, but as a blind bastard it has long been the crone I turned to to guidance. My eyes are afflicted by a disease of the old, and I longed for nothing as much as wisdom to see my way forward. If you deal truly with me, I shall deal truely with you until old age take me.”

She sat, and Brienne was proud and honored by the hearty applause her speech received.

Then Jaime stood. This was a surprise.

“This afternoon,” he said, “Brien Payne of House Payne has asked for my daughter’s hand in marriage. I have agreed. Brien is a trusted member of my household, and a young knight from a Western family. The Paynes have long stood by House Lannister, and his father serves as Castellan at Tarth. I can think of no one I would trust more. May their betrothal be long, and our speeches be short.” He raised his flagon. The company of men banged on the tables. Brien flushed scarlet. Alys giggled girlishly behind her hand. Jamie smiled, though Brienne could see the strain in it. Down the table, a chant of “Lady Alys the Lion” was taken up by some drunken sods. Everyone drank deeply at Jaime’s toast and Jaime sat. His smile stayed fixed on his face, but his hand fumbled for Brienne’s under the table. She grabbed hold and slipped her fingers through his. This was… tolerable. This was all tolerable. And yet, she felt older than she had in years. She felt she was losing Alys, and the world was tipping right in front of her.

She clutched Jaime’s hand and felt the bunching of his muscles. He was grabbing fiercely. _No, we are not meant to hold on to them. Let go, Jaime. Though they may all leave, I will not._

His eyes met hers. He nodded as though he had heard her thoughts. His muscles calmed and his breathing slowed as he held her eyes.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her as a knight would a lady.

She smiled broadly, buck-teeth and all. They had given Alys all they could of themselves, and it must needs be enough.


	13. The Pageant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pageant, a fire, and two missing children. When does this family ever get a break?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspo for Casterly Rock is like Sumela Monastery (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sumela_Monastery) on the inside and the monasteries of Meteora (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteora) on the ocean-facing side.

BRIENNE

While the feast was held on the tourney field, the pageant was too formal to take place in the dirt and mud. The carriages of House Lannister-- some four and ten gilded monstrosities-- were brought out to take the guests into the Rock. The sun was setting when Brienne-- stomach pleasantly full of the spiced mead served at the feast-- crammed into the largest and most gilded of the carriages with her husband, children, and Brien. Alys and Brien were both petite, but Jaime’s, Brienne’s, and Galladon’s knees knocked together the entire ride. Arthur would be knocking knees with them in a year or two at the rate he was growing.

And truly, the road was bumpy. Finally, the bumping ended as the train of carriages was swallowed up by the dark maw of the lion. Galladon helpfully described everything he saw for his sister’s benefit. It was a habit so old that Brienne wondered if he knew he did it.

The lion’s maw was a dark rocky tunnel, serving as a gatehouse. Light seeped in through small holes in the rock above-- murder holes most like. Finally, the rock fell away and the carriages came to a stop. The Tarth family untangled themselves and dropped to the smooth rock floor. It was not carved or fitted stones-- but the smooth polished stone of a cavern floor. Though she understood it did not rain much here, when it did, the floor must be slick as ice.

Turning from the floor, Brienne looked up. And up, and up. They stood in a proper bailey of an enormous castle. On all sides, the waves could be heard crashing against the curtain wall. It was deafening. She spun and saw that the cavern was also treated as part of the curtain wall. Rooms, porticos, and balconies had been carved from it. Most shone brightly, giving the bailey a homey golden glow in the sunset hour. It was-- well-- _beautiful_. It was not at all as she had imagined. She thought she’d find herself someplace cold and hard as Tywin Lannister, but this was a golden fantasy world, a place she might have listened to songs of a child.

A tug on her arm reminded her that she ought to be doing more than standing with her mouth agape.

Around her, carriages were disgorging stylish lords and ladies. Many had changed into the most ornate gowns Brienne had ever seen. Lord Everland had tried to convince Brienne to at least don a peacock hairpiece, but she refused. It was ridiculous. Now, she understood why-- the women around her wore fur trains, fish scale gloves, enormous flowers made of fabric, or lizard-lion purses. One man had white peacock feathers arrayed onto his neck like a ruffle.

Brienne turned to find Jaime gawking at their guests with the same open-mouthed shock as Brienne had given the castle/cavern curtain wall.

The pull on Brienne’s arm had not been Jaime. There at her left stood Ser Lucion Lannister, Castellan of Casterly Rock. He smiled at her shock. “It’s all the rage in the Reach, and I fear this absurd fashion is creeping North. Ah, have you met my lovely wife? I dare say you will like her. Kaysie-- Kaysie, dear.”

Kaysie Lannister turned more fully to Jaime and Brienne and curtsied quite low.

“My lady wife, Kaysie, from house Waterman, of the North.”

She smiled. She was plain, and young, but at least she had no animal body parts or ornate fabric adornments glued to her person.

Conspiratorially, she whispered, “In the North, we wear furs to keep warm. You’ve been North, can you not imagine how warm it would be to wear furs here?”

Brienne immediately thought Kaysie too presumptuous and forward, though in the next moment she wondered when she had started considering honesty to be presumption. She had been spending too much time in courtly households of late.

So instead she forced herself to smile at Kaysie. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking, Lady Kaysie?”

“Twenty and one. I vaguely remember the troubling times while House Bolton had control of Winterfell, though my home is close enough to White Harbor that we were spared most of the violence. My father died in the Long Night, milady. At Winterfell. Under your command.”

Brienne felt duly chastised for considering Kaysie Lannister presumptive. Brienne had been a novice commander. That Jaime had approved all her decisions was little comfort when staring into the blue-green eyes of a girl who hadn’t grown up with her father.

“How came you so far south?” Jaime interrupted.

“Oh, I, uh…” she blushed. “I must admit to a little ambition. I wrote Lord Tyrion and spun the sad tale of my father’s death. He helped me find a situation.” She smiled at the husband that was easily twenty years her senior. “He promised me a kind husband and a warm clime. I know many in the West disagree with how absent he has been, but if he has been busy helping minor ladies such as me, then I daresay he’s doing the right thing.”

“Dear wife--” Lucion began, censure in this voice.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” Kaysie said, “I did not in any way mean to imply that I wouldn’t support Lady Alys’s claim.” At this she turned and curtsied low to Alys. Brienne was mildly impressed. Some people spoke as though Alys was not there-- as if being blind made her deaf. Others kept their bows and courtesies only for those who could see them. Kaysie continued in her overly familiar and candid way. “Lady Alys, I had hoped we’d become friends. That is, if you decide to keep my husband on as castellan, of course.” There was a sad hopefulness in her voice.

“My father recommended I do keep him on,” Alys said. “I would be happy to hear more about the North. I’ve never been farther north than Gulltown.”

“Do you know, milady, some of the younger Lannister cousins are planning to partake in a less formal gathering in a part of the castle called the northwest angle. I believe there’s to be a mummer to tell spooky stories. I wonder if I could escort you and, uh, your party.”

“It’s quite safe,” Ser Lucion interrupted at Alys’s apparent reticence. “My wife will be there as chaperone, for one, and some of the other married cousins will also.”

Alys accepted on behalf of herself, Brien, and her two brothers, but first they and all cousins must put in a decorous appearance at the pageant.

By now, their group had gathered an entourage of said cousins, each seeking their moment to stand in the presence of the Lion of Lannister and assert their familiar connections. Perhaps Brienne was unjust and they simply wished to meet Alys, but their hungry eyes took in Brienne with skepticism and made her feel as though she were naked. Jaime looped his arm through Brienne’s and rolled his eyes. In her ear he whispered, “Because you did not dress in their garish fashions, the fashions will be gone within a moon turn. Sheep, the lot of them.” Then he turned with a false smile and allowed Lucion to introduce each cousin to himself, Brienne, and Alys in turn.

Brienne found that she was yearning for home. For her own bed, her own household. She was immeasurably glad to not have married into becoming the Lady of the Rock. She hoped Alys was up to all of this. She wished she could skip the pageant and find some large quiet room where she could spend an evening alone with her husband, as they might in Evenfall.

Jamie stood up with Brienne for the first two dances, though neither enjoyed dancing much. After this, the party had started well enough that they could slip out to a balcony overlooking the Sunset Sea. There was even a stone bench. Jaime sagged into it with relief.

“Your home is… more magnificent that I could have imagined,” Brienne started.

“This is _not_ my home.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Why? I didn’t build the place.”

Brienne shrugged. “I didn’t build Evenfall, but I still am proud of its situation.”

Jaime eyed her silently for a long time before answering. “You have worked to better that situation. Here, I have done little but run away. In truth, the place doesn’t hold good memories and I have trouble seeing past the poor ones.”

Brienne was silent for a long time, staring out at the sea. Finally, she asked, “Do you miss her?”

Jaime’s head shake was firm. “No. I mourn all I might have been were it not for her. A good brother to Tyrion, for one.”

“And someone else’s husband, no doubt,” Brienne added.

He smiled at her. “You always know the right thing to say to cheer me up.”

“I’d not regret the past for anything, not your past or mine. I am too happy to risk changing that.”

Jaime nodded. He moved closer to her side and rested his head on her shoulder. “I wonder how long we’re expected to stay.”

Brienne was humming her agreement when they heard the distant screaming. Both of them leapt to their feet, but they had no idea of which way to turn. It was Lord Everland who found them first. “A fire,” he gasped, as though he had been running, “A small one. Not to worry my lord, the men are putting it out.”

Brienne doubted that fire was as much of a concern at the Rock as elsewhere. After all, the walls were stone alone.

Jaime was nodding when Ser Lucion caught his arm. “It’s where the youths are!”

Brienne felt lightning course through her veins. Was this an assassination attempt? She saw the same fear in Jaime’s eyes and together they began to push through the wary and hushed crowd of nobles who had heard the cry of fire.

They were not even out of the hall when Addam approached. He was carrying a body in his arms. Alys clung to his Lady Kaysie’s elbow, looking nothing but determined. Her staff was clenched within white fingers.

The body in Addam’s arms was Brien, and he was only partly conscious.

Addam laid the boy down on a chase. “He’s had a bump on the head but he’ll recover,” Addam said.

Brienne gripped Addam’s arm. “Arthur and Galladon were with them.”  
The answer came from Alys, who looked very pale. “Three men,” she said. “One had eaten fish recently. Another smelled heavily of ale. The third breathed very hard. They took Arthur.”

Kaysie interrupted now. “They _tried_ to kidnap Lady Alys, but she held them off with her cane long enough for her brothers to come to her rescue, milady. They grabbed Lord Arthur and ran when it became apparent that the fire they’d set as a diversion was under control.”

“How did they get in--” Ser Lucion was asking even while Jaime said, “Where is Galladon?”

No one had an answer for either question, though.

“Ser Jaime,” a man said, “A horse is missing from the stables. If I had to guess, Lord Galladon has ridden after his brother.”

Without looking back, Jaime stormed off. Brienne knew Jaime would take care of the situation as well as she could, but she wished she could also move into action. Unfortunately, this was not her castle. She couldn’t have found the right part of the keep nor even the stables without help.

At that moment, Alys tumbled unceremoniously into her arms and began to sob. Brienne was reminded that there was a way she could help without knowing the castle, and she demanded Ser Lucion show them to their rooms.

“I will bring you,” Lady Kaysie said. For once Brienne was grateful for the girl’s presumptuousness or ambition-- whatever it was that kept her within arms’ reach in this unfamiliar castle.


	14. The Search Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne encounters one last threat within Casterly Rock. Jaime rides out after his sons. Galladon swims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to thank those who comment. It really is a moral boost in these weird times. I know I never reply, and that's intentional-- I want to keep writing exactly as I see it in my head and sometimes if I reply too much I start thinking too much about you, dear readers. But you ARE dear to me even if I don't reply, and even if you don't comment. Otherwise I would still write it, but it would languish on my hard drive like other things that are currently languishing. I am a reader, and I enjoy reading, and because I enjoy reading so much, it gives me a lot of satisfaction to think that I may be giving such joy to others.
> 
> This chapter's up so fast because I'm really trying not to edit myself to death over here. As such, there are probably loads of errors.

BRIENNE

Kaysie led them through the stone halls, Alys’s arm wrapped firmly in Brienne’s. Brienne felt naked without a sword, though she did have a dagger in her boot. Alys had her staff as well. At the next turn, Kaysie gasped and turned around to face the ladies who followed her. Her grey-green eyes were wide and her round cheeks flushed when she hissed, “There’s a guard around this corner I’ve not seen before. And milady, I _know_ all the guards.”

Brienne took her meaning immediately. “Is there a different path?”

Kaysie shook her head. Brienne could see the girl was trembling.

The false guard came here to take one last shot at Alys, mayhaps. Brienne just had time to slip the dagger from her boot before the guard rounded the corner into their party. Three women would normally be easy pickings for a man in armor, but they were not all ordinary women. Kaysie squeezed behind Alys and gripped the younger girl’s shoulder. The castellan’s wife even _squeaked_. Kaysie may have been bold in courtly manners, but she was clearly not used to fighting. One might have called her craven to hide behind a blind child, but Brienne wanted to give the castellan’s wife the benefit of the doubt. After all, Kaysie had seen Alys fight this very evening.

It was to the benefit of all that Lady Kaysie had moved aside. Alys quickly stunned the man by hitting him square across the jaw with her staff. It was all the distraction Brienne needed to thrust her dagger into the man’s gut. No quick death for him-- he had information Brienne needed.

“Where are my sons?” Brienne asked. “Who sent you? If you give me information, I might give you a quick death.”

The man’s eyes shone in alternating waves of defiance and fear. As Brienne twisted the blade, fear bubbled to the forefront of the man’s eyes.

“Loyalty is worth nothing to the dead. Your friends will never recover your body,” Brienne assured him. “You are already assured a traitor’s burial.”

“Come try me,” the man groaned, and then fainted away. He was still alive and might yet be revived, but perhaps he never would come back to tell in his fellow traitors.

“He speaks nonsense,” Brienne mumbled to herself.

“Not nonsense. The _house_ ,” Alys whispered. “House Plumm. That’s their words. Lady Kaysie, was there anyone from House Plumm at the tourney?”

Kaysie’s wide eyes were still on the man.

“Lady Kaysie,” Brienne snapped.

“I… I don’t know, milady. I’m not one for tourneys.”

“Fine. Which way to our rooms? Alys, take Lady Kaysie’s arm and let me lead the way.”

*****

JAIME

The men were readying an attachment to ride out before dawn. It will not be soon enough. Jaime had seen the stable, seen the horse taken. He was sure Galladon had gone after Arthur. He is not sure if it fills him with hope or dread. On the one hand, Galladon should have waited, taken more men, gone _prepared_ , dammit. On the other, the contingent of Lannnister men was too slow and large to catch up with a small group who knew the land. Galladon had a better chance than their contingent did of catching up Arthur. Jaime simply hoped the boy didn’t do anything stupid. He forced himself to put aside thoughts of the damn snake and horse from their journey here.

When word reached Jaime that there had been one more traitor lying in wait for his wife and daughter, Jaime needed to see with his own eyes that they were safe. He entered the lavish apartments of the Lord of the Rock-- a room that had once been his father’s and by all rights was now Tyrion’s-- to find Alys had cried herself to sleep and Brienne had changed for battle.

“When do we ride out?” Brienne asked.

Jaime shook his head. “Let’s not do this now,” he begged.

“I won’t be left behind like some lady.”

Jaime bit his tongue before he said something stupid. He pointed to Alys. “Look. Your daughter needs you. You would leave her in a castle where she has been twice attacked with no one to look after her but Brien, who has a head wound?”

“Your family--”

“She’s distressed and she doesn’t know my family.”

“Genna will be here soon.”

“Good, but I’m not leaving to find the boys _soon_. I’m leaving _now_.”

“You can watch after Alys as well as I can.”

“Brienne,” Jaime sagged. “I am not doubting your abilities. You just won the melee and the joust for sevens’ sake. But you don’t know these lands. There are woods and canyons, some with dead ends, and if it rains there are washes where you can be swept away within minutes. There are poisonous snakes and plants--”

“Alright! Fine.” Brienne interrupted to concede. “I just--”

“I know. I know it’s awful to do nothing. But you can do the most good right here, in this room, guarding and comforting Alys. I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

Brienne nodded solemnly.

Jaime stalked towards her, and when he saw the fight was clearly gone from her eyes, he pulled her head down to kiss her brow, and then tilted her chin to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Before we left Tarth, your father said something to me-- he said he’s glad I have a-- a _reputation_ \-- for doing anything for my family, now that it is his family as well. I won’t return without them, Brienne, even if I have to tear down every tree and rock in the West. I love them too well.”

Brienne tried to smile, but it came off more as a grimace. “Plumm,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“The other man, as he was dying, spoke the words of House Plumm.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched. It was good to know. He wouldn’t have to tear down all the trees and rocks-- only those between Casterly Rock and House Plumm’s seat at Sea Meet.

*****

Even though they had hounds and knew the probable direction the abductors were traveling, Jaime and his contingent of a thousand men at arms had to wait until sunrise to depart. The size of this army was ridiculous, and merely for show. Sea Meet was down the coast from Casterly, but the path led through treacherous canyons and pinyon pine forests, nothing a thousand men could march through. They had only slightly more than a hundred men ahorse, which was better, but still too many. The detachment was mostly to show that no one could kidnap a Lannister and expect to live. The West would disgorge all its might against house Plumm. Jaime wondered when he had turned into his father. But no, Lord Tywin fought for his reputation. Jaime _loved_ his sons. He would not lose these sons as he had lost the first two. These were _his_.

In the hours before they could depart, Ser Lucion sought out any guards who had not been at their posts, but found none. Instead, the abductors must have come in through the main gate, sliding in behind some party of revel-goers. Ser Lucion offered to resign, as his men had not been careful enough, but Jaime would not hear of it. He _trusted_ Lucion, and right now he could not afford to squander those he trusted.

Finally, there was enough light to see the dogs’ paths and they were loosed. Jaime rode with the best knights of the West, all come from the tourney, most his friends. He saw Peck, a man grown, and nodded. “Well met.”

“Milord,” Peck answered, bowing his head. “We’ll get them back.”

Jaime would have to recommend Alys consider Peck for her household. If she decided she really wanted to stay in this blasted place after all.

They followed White Creek up a canyon Jaime knew from his youth. It was a lush hideaway, a good place to hunt deer. The stream would end, he knew, at a grotto where a spring poured from the rock and one could drink fresh, cold water from deep within the earth.

The creek fanned out into a thicket covered with poisoned ivy. The dogs crashed through and the men followed. Jaime felt thorns from a wolfberry scrape his arm, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he was watching the dogs. They had stopped, and were smelling in different directions.

“Milord, their paths seem to have split,” the kennel master said.

Jaime heard himself curse. In this bottleneck, only about ten knights stood near him, plus the kennel master and two of his servants. Jaime nodded to himself.

“Fine, we’ll split up. Five and five.” He eyed the men. He wanted people he knew and trusted in each group.

In one group he set Addam in charge of Ser Melwyn Sarsfield, Ser Lurs Estren, Lucion, and Peck.

Jaime took his comrades of old Ser Kennos and Ser Lyle, Ser Benam Foote, Ser Juran Yew, and old Ser Garth Greenfield (on whom he knew he must keep an eye).

They took a mere moment to discuss the strategy should either group encounter their prey, then they split into the two arms of the canyon, as did the dogs.

On Jaime’s side,they followed the dogs up a rock-strewn slope to the top of a butte. Strongboar’s horse slipped a bit because Lyle certainly had not been watching his diet in his old age. Another Jaime in another time would have made fun of his friend, but he couldn’t find humor in it now. He only knew that if he lost Ser Lyle, he would need to leave his old friend behind for the following horsemen to find.

As Jaime made the crest of the hillock, and the dogs turned northeast, Jaime’s stomach sank. He knew, then. He knew they were on the right trail, because the trail was now heading directly towards the river. The Coloredcrest River was not as big as the Mander, into which it flowed, but the sides were steep and the current strong. He knew at once that the Plumm men had come with a barge and crossed, then gone back across with the same barge. There was no way for the Lannister men to cross, not unless they went another fifteen miles downstream, at the town of Blackbridge.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

His men stopped around him, and it was Ser Kennos who realized it next. “The river,” he said.

Jaime nodded. “We’ll not catch them up this way, and the dogs will not do us good from here.” He turned to the kennel master. “Take them home, Mayson,” he told the man. “The five of us will move ahead. No--” he turned to his men, “listen. They may make for Blackbridge on their side of the river. They do have to cross back over if they are heading for House Plumm. Or they may have bought their barge there. A smaller group will be less noticeable, and won’t put them off their course. Lyle, you’re with me. Kennos take the others and return and tell the men to barricade the roads. If they leave the river or the forests and canyons by any road, we shall have them. We’ve enough men for that at least. But Lyle and I shall catch them up, first.”

Kennos’s eyes said _are you sure my lord?_ in that way that people who have commanded troops together could do. Jaime nodded, but not before taking extra rations from the returning men. Then he and Lyle turned east towards Blackbridge.

*****

GALLADON

The most treacherous part had been fording a deep and swift-flowing river by horse in the night. Not until Galladon was halfway across did he realize how foolish this endeavor had been. There was nothing for it now but to keep going, as he was halfway, but the current was much stronger than he was used to. He slid from the horse’s back and began to swim in earnest. He dove beneath to unhook the horse’s girth. The saddle sank unceremoniously, and the horse swam much better for it. Galladon knew he had made the right choice in that respect. He simply hoped the horse was well-trained enough to let him mount without the saddle. And that he would not starve without the food he’d brought. But there was nothing for it. He swam, and the bay gelding swam, and somehow, both made it dripping to the other side.


	15. Reinforcements Arrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galladon is prepared to save Arthur alone, but's he's happy he won't have to.

GALLADON

The horse was probably well-trained, but after swimming for its life, it did not let Galladon mount on the far side of the river. Galladon didn’t hang around long enough to charm the beast; he would need to make good time to keep up with Arthur’s abductors, or he would risk losing them altogether.

The night was cold and crisp. Gally’s clothes dried, but he shivered as he jogged in the dark. Around any rock might be another deadly snake or worse. But he had to keep running. Luckily, he knew where he was going. Little scraps of Arthur’s fine linen overcoat clung to branches along the deer path-- not a coincidence, but an intentional trail, of that Galladon was certain.

The sun had risen hours ago and Galladon was tiring rapidly when the knicker of a horse stopped him dead. He hunched down, glad he’d worn a dark color to the pageant. Just ahead, through the trees, he could make out the movement of several mounts and the smoke of a small cookfire. He heard muted conversation. The bandits had stopped. Galladon stepped slowly back down the hill-- far enough that he needed to strain his eyes to catch sight of the horses through the dense trees. He sat, and sighed. He wanted rest, but there was a more pressing need. Galladon began to search for water.

By midday, the brigand camp was still intact, and very quiet. Galladon guessed they meant to travel at night, and were resting now. He dared not approach, but it gave him the courage to wander a little further in search of some berries to put in his stomach. His body begged for rest. He wondered if he trusted himself to sleep. He knew, alas, that he could not keep up with the brigands in the night ahead without rest. He chose a shady spot of open grass and closed his eyes. He hoped he would awake when the chilling night air made him uncomfortable.

Indeed, Galladon did awake near sunset. He snuck back to the abductors’ camp and felt a rush of relief to see their horses. They were packing for a night of riding. Galladon believed he could keep up as long as they were as slow as the night before.

By his luck, they were not only slow, but they stopped to argue several times. Once, they tied their horses and marched over the ridgeline, and Galladon rushed upon the horses and stole several handfuls of grain before running away. It tasted like sawdust, but it calmed his aching belly.

The next day, they camped in open country. Scrubby juniper bushes and desert oaks clung to rocky hillsides. On the top of one such hillock, the men tied their horses and their prisoner. They then walked a little distance to make their fire.

Galladon knew he was unlikely to get a better chance. The sound of his feet would be concealed by the horses’ shifting. Soon, he was upon Arthur, with only a thick-trunked Juniper between them. Vines grew along it, and Galladon thought he would be invisible even if one of the abductors looked directly at him.

“Sssh,” he hissed at Arthur.

Arthur jumped and peered into the bush.

“It’s me,” Galladon whispered. He was relieved that Arthur seemed unharmed and alert.

“About time,” Arthur hissed under his breath.

“Do you know where they’re taking you?”

“They always move off to talk. They think I know nothing, but I know the sigil of House Plumm. I know the short one’s young and always takes third watch alone. The fat one is in charge. The bald one is the brains, but fatty doesn’t like him.”

“There are five in all?” Galladon confirmed.

“Oi!” The fat man yelled. “Who are you talking to?”

“Myself, if it please you,” Arthur yelled back, while Galladon hunched lower into the bush. “Though I’d prefer to talk to you, if you’d but bring the party closer.”

“We don’t have anything you need to hear.”

“I disagree. I’d rather like to know what you have in store for me. A ransom, I imagine? Is House Plumm so in debt?”

The bald man turned and glared across the hillock. “Who said anything about any old house?”

“Your man there’s got engraved gauntlets. Oh dear, I _plum_ forgot I shouldn’t know the sigil of House Plumm. I’m a Stormlander, aren’t I?”

“Shut your face--”

“Or am I a lion? I suppose we’ll know for sure when the Lannister Army comes for you.”

“We ought to kill him and cut our losses,” the bald man said. The smart one, Arthur had called him. “The plan’s gone to shit.”

A drunkard stood and swayed. “I don’t see why we can’t go ahead with the plan.”

“The plan, Mikal, was to bring back the girl and force a marriage to Ser Ando, not to take a boy hostage. What need have we of a ransom? Even less, if they take our heads, which mark me, they _will_.”

“Oh yes,” Arthur added with his father’s glinting smile. “They will.”

“They’ll kill us all whether we kill the boy or no,” the fat man said. “We can trade him for our lives.”

“Do you think that the _Kingslayer_ will keep an oath to spare the lives of the people who kidnapped his son?”

“We knew the danger--”

“I think we should hear out Ser Mikal,” Arthur called to them.

Mikal announced brazenly. “Jus’ cut off his cock and he can marry Ser Ando just as well as some bitch can.”

Galladon hissed to Arthur through the bushes. “Keep your mouth shut!”

To himself, Arthur muttered, “On second thought, no one should listen to a drunkard.”

“Shut,” Galladon said. “Do not open it. Has father not told you how he lost his hand?”

Arthur paled a little and put his hands over his crotch.

Galladon continued in a hushed whisper. “They’re fighting so much amongst themselves that the Lannister host will catch us up.”

“And what if they don’t? You can’t take all five. Together we’re good for three if our timing is right. But five?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Galladon spoke with a confidence he did not feel. He needed to. This was his little brother, not yet a man grown. He _would_ figure it out. Assuming, of course, that an army of golden lions did not sweep in and do it for him. He desperately hoped that they would.

*****

By the third day, the abductors had begun to travel by day and sleep at night. They had abandoned their fear of being caught. They had traveled across country and on deer paths enough that no cavalry could catch them regardless. Galladon began to fear that he was the entirety of the rescue party.

He needed a plan. Galladon begged Arthur to listen to what he could of the Plumm men’s talk. When Galladon could creep close enough, Arthur reported with the efficiency of a military general, and usually had some stolen morsels of food for Galladon besides.

As well as Arthur understood it, the brigands’ increasing arguments were about the army that might lie in wait for them as they exited their overland trek onto the main road. They were trying to approach the road from the most advantageous direction, and arguing about where that would be. Galladon assumed they would take Arthur as hostage if they encountered any Lannister soldiers. Or they might kill him and run for it. The bald man was already convinced it was the best option.

Whatever their plan, Galladon was running out of time to act. Tomorrow they would cross the road. Galladon sat alone in a little cove of boxwoods and thought over his plan. It was too risky. He knew it would fail. He did not think it would cost them their lives, though. Galladon expected to be captured in the attempt. How much better for them, then, to trade two Lannister sons than one? It would be added security too if they were to be hostages. The worst case was that Galladon would be locked in House Plumm’s hall with Arthur. Escape from within a fortified castle would be unlikely. They would be bargaining chips for ending a siege, perhaps. Or maybe Gally’s plan would work. If the Warrior were with them-- or perhaps the Father’s judgement-- they could earn their freedom with their swords before the next morning. Either way, Galladon could not wait another day.

He stood to scrounge for something he might eat in the meantime. He had caught a cricket earlier in the day. It was something. Still, Galladon’s stomach ached ceaselessly.

Suddenly he heard an unmistakable noise-- the knicker of a horse, but not from the direction of the Plumm encampment. He slipped through the bushes, trying to get a look. Whether this newcomer was friend or foe, it meant the end of Gally’s nighttime plan.

He moved upslope so he might have the high ground if the newcomer was an enemy. He waited and watched. And then! At the sight of a gold lion rampant along the horse’s trapper, Galladon’s legs shook and he stood. Lannister men! He approached, and only when he emerged from the treeline did he see. Not Lannister men-- his father. He gripped a tree for balance. 

Then Gally’s father’s green eyes fell on him and Galladon was shaken back to duty. He rushed forward on his shaky legs and whispered, “They’re up ahead. Turn back before they hear you.”

His father nodded, and he and the large man beside him turned their horses back down the trail. Galladon followed for about a half mile, and then his father was dismounting.

Gally saw his father fetching food and water from the saddlebags. Galladon took to it like the starving man he was. He sat on the trail and ate sourdough bread and sliced onion and dried apple and drank deeply of the canteen of water.

“Gally, this is Ser Lyle Crakehall. Lyle, Galladon Tarth.”

The large man’s smile crinkled. “I haven’t seen you since you were a babe.”

Galladon was too hungry to remember his courtesies. He simply nodded upwards at the man.

“How fares Arthur?” his father asked with all seriousness.

“Well, um--” Gally swallowed his mouthful of half-chewed bread and drank water to clear his throat. “They feed him and keep him well. They reckon they’ll cross the road tomorrow, so tonight was… It was my last night to rescue him. I devised a plan. It has a better chance of working now.” He eyed Ser Lyle.

Father sat down in the trail next to Galladon. “How many are they?”

“Um, five. A fat man, a bald man, a drunkard, a quiet man, and a squire or other lowly follower. I think a squire. The bald mine is the brains, but the fat man is in charge. Their original plan was to make Alys marry Ser Aldo Plumm, but now they’ve got Arthur I don’t think they know what to do with him.”

“So, what was _your_ plan?” Father asked. Ser Lyle lowered himself to the trail to hear.

*****

JAIME

Gally’s plan would not have worked with two people, but it wasn’t awful for four. They could work with it. Remarkably, Galladon, through Arthur, knew a good deal of the watch schedule and the sleeping arrangement of the men they were dealing with.

Yes, they would use Gally’s plan, though slightly adapted. Galladon had planned to attack during the third watch, when it was always the squire alone. He would have slit the squire’s throat soundlessly, then freed Arthur. Then it was two against four, at least. Not good odds, but not impossible either. If he had been well fed and rested, Galladon might have been good enough for three men.

But with two seasoned knights, the odds were very different.

“Here’s the plan,” Jaime said. “Lyle, you go in and kill the squire--”

“I can do that part!” Galladon objected.

“No,” Jaime said, “You can’t. You would need to slit it throat before he makes a sound, which means you need to know exactly where to cut and how deep. In addition, I won’t have a squire’s blood on your hands as your first kill in battle.”

Galladon went to speak again, but Jaime cut him off, “I’m in command here, Galladon, and right now you are less my son than a soldier under my command. Battles need to have commanders. Do you understand?”

Duly chastised, Gally nodded.

Jaime squeezed his shoulder. “Good lad. I’d go myself, but I fear it may take two hands.” He smiled joylessly. “As I was saying, Lyle will get the squire and free Arthur. Then we have-- how long until the camp rises?”

“If we attack at the start of third watch, three hours.”

“Right. We’ll bring Arthur back here, split our armor, then the four of us will go after the other men. Gally and I will take the two in charge, and Lyle you’ll take Arthur to get the drunkard and the other one. It ought to be more than an even match.”

“More than,” Galladon answered, nodding.

“Galladon, I’ll even let you have the man in charge. That’s a good first kill on the battlefield, don’t you think? The man who kidnapped your brother? Worthy of songs,” Jaime said.

“Worthy of knighthood?” Ser Lyle asked.

“Not yet, but a good adventure story.”

Galladon nodded mutely. Jaime guessed that Gally was more than ready to get this adventure story over with.


	16. Lady Wraith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's group fights, while Brienne leave Casterly Rock. They meet again on the road.

*****

GALLADON

Galladon waited in the dark beside his father. His ears strained, but he heard nothing. The moon was coming on full and cast the scrubby desert oaks into shadowy relief, their figures swaying on the ground like Lyseni temptresses. Then, the rush of dry grass. Two of the oak trees were slinking towards them, coalescing into men. No, a large man and a young one.

Father moved to embrace Arthur, and Galladon did so next, handing his brother the canteen.

“You were right,” Arthur whispered. “You always are.”

“I wasn’t. There’s no Lannister host, just--”

A sword was pressed by Ser Lyle into Arthur’s hand-- the sword of the dead squire, likely.

“Just the four of us,” Father finished. “Are you ready to kill the bastards?”

“Hells, yes,” Arthur said.

It occurred to Galladon that they needn’t risk their lives. They could steal the horses of the Plumm men and ride for the road. That would have been a better plan, had his father not arrived. But it was a coward’s plan. These Plumm men must learn not to play with lions, or you will get bitten.

They traded off bits of armor so that Galladon and Arthur both had pauldrons and gauntlets. Arthur had a chest plate hanging down like an oversize robe. Arthur had the small squire’s lightweight sword, and Galladon was given Ser Lyle’s spare sort sword. He gave it a few swings to understand its balance, glad his mother made him train with a variety of weapons. Then, in the hours before dawn, the moon finally set. They made a single line behind Ser Lyle-- who now knew the way in the dark-- and walked the mile or so to camp.

“Gally,” Father whispered in Galladon’s ear. “You can kill the one in charge, but I intend to take the smart one alive. He’s the bald one?”

Galladon nodded.

“Good. We need to know if other houses were involved.”

Then the camp clearing was before them. The squire’s body hung limply across a stump. Two oilskin cloth tarps converged on the dead cookfire-- two men asleep under each. One tarp held two young men. In the other, tThe bald man was snoring loudly.

Father nodded, and Galladon fell upon the fat man. His head was clean off before he’d gotten to his feet. It was too easy for any story or song, and he certainly didn’t want to be knighted for lopping off a fat man’s head while he was asleep in bed.

Father struggled more with the bald man, but only because he could not hold the man and tie his hands at the same time. Galladon untied the cloth belt of the dead commander and helped his father tie the writhing man.

Across the campfire, Lyle and Arthur were already done as well, though it had taken them a pace longer.

All four men looked at each other. The tied man was stammering.. “My lord, my lord, I didn’t… I advised Lord Plumm against this action and… listen, I will tell you everything.”

“Yes,” Father said flatly, “you will. In exchange, I’ll promise a clean death and to return your bones to your family.”

“My Lord, my Lord of Lannister…” the man still simpered. “It was I who made sure your son was unharmed. Surely… surely…”

Father spoke over him. “We’ll leave these for the shadowcats.”

“Even the squire, Jaime?” Ser Lyle asked. His eyes seemed pained.

“Not the squire,” Jaime nodded. “If we ride east from here, we’re not four hours from the road. We’ll bring the squire’s body to return to his family.”

Galladon looked at the head of the man he had killed. He had struck with such force, the head had flown partway across the encampment. His hand still felt the thick shiver of the blade’s entry, the resistance as it hit bone, the quake of bone shattering, and the slick slide of the head leaving the body. He shuddered.

“Are you feeling well enough to ride?” Father asked him.

He met his father’s eyes and saw understanding there. Galladon nodded. He wasn’t sure he could have rested with the adrenaline in his body, but he also felt he could not hold the sword a moment longer. Father took it from him, cleaned the blade with the dead man’s clothes, and returned it to Ser Lyle. Quietly, Galladon helped untie the Plumm men’s six horses. It was a matter of moments to retrieve Father’s and Ser Lyle’s horses from over the hill line. The sun was pinking the sky by the time they tied the body of the squire over blood bay gerund. The tied man had been gagged-- his incessant pleading ( _my Lord of Lannister my Lord of Lannister_ 0 had gotten old very quickly. He was now quiet and obedient on his own varnish roan. Galladon would have that horse from him. Ana would want it, he knew.

Then five living men and one dead one, with eight horses, descended the ridge towards the valley below, and the road.

*****

BRIENNE

In the two days since Jaime had left, Brienne had hardly felt more lost. Literally, she often found herself in some corner of Casterly Rock, unsure where she had made a wrong turn. Worse, everyone eyed her as though she didn’t belong. Mayhaps she was imagining it, but she didn’t think so. Why would these people accept Alys as their Lady but slink around Brienne as though she were an odd pet Jaime had brought home. Was she not their chosen liege lady’s mother?

It took a few minutes to remember that no, she had not birthed Alys. Was that what these people saw her as, an usurper to Cersei’s place? Or mayhaps she was so used to living within the comforting walls of Evenfall that she’d forgotten how people looked at her most of her life.

Alys became fast friends with Kaysie, and soon neither wanted Brienne pacing while they sewed and gossiped and made prayer wheels for Brienne’s missing sons. Brienne did not make prayer wheels. She did not think she even _believed_ in prayer, or the gods. She believed in action, and the sword.

She wanted to follow after Jaime, to rescue her sons, but dared not leave Alys alone.

When a courier brought news that Lady Genna’s ship was mooring in Lannisport, Brienne insisted on riding out with Lucion to greet her. Here at last was Brienne’s savior. Genna could stay with Alys and Brienne would leave the damned castle. She would be back ahorse, in armor, where she itched to be.

*****

JAIME

They rode along the road headed south towards the seat of House Plumm, and met their first garrison of men almost immediately. The Lannister men hailed Jaime’s group and sent a courier at once to the next garrison. Like a chain, word would reach Casterly Rock before nightfall of the group’s safe return.

Jaime unceremoniously wrenched his prisoner off the man’s pretty red horse. He remanded his prisoner to the captain of the garrison, a Peage and cousin to Jaime’s once-squire. Paege had four and ten men and half as many tents. The men seemed inordinately well-disciplined. Had Lucion been riding the rounds to make sure all the garrisons stayed on alert? It was what Jaime would do, knowing the consequences if House Plumm were to slip away with two Lannister heirs.

As they sat to a midday meal, Captain Paege laughed heartily. “I’m just mighty glad to have found you. I don’t think I could withstand another visit from the lady.”

“The lady?” Jaime asked, already knowing.

“Your lady, milord. She’s been harrying the garrisons for two days. She rides the road from top to bottom twice a day, night and day. She beat my man Winfried into the dirt because he fell asleep during his watch. Since then we’ve been keeping three men on all watches. She found the next camp up in their cups the first night and sent their captain home in disgrace.” Paege shook his head. “She’s Tywin Lannister come again.”

Jaime smiled to himself. “No, captain. Tywin Lannister would have sent the man home without his head. She’s--”

“Mother?” Arthur interrupted. “She’s doing that?”

“She’s the finest knight in the Kingdoms,” Jaime continued, “and forgets that everyone cannot be held to her exacting standards.”

Captain Paege shrugged. “I’ll admit, my men are behaving better than ever before. They give me no grief, as they know my orders are meant to protect them from the Lady Wraith.”

Ser Lyle laughed. “I wonder how she’d like the name. Jaime, what do you think? Is she ‘Lady Wraith’ now?”

Jaime shrugged. “She’s been called worse.”

*****

The garrison packed up after the midday meal and trudged on south, past other garrisons that were all similarly acquitting their posts. Most troops dared not leave their station until they had lain eyes on the Lannisters and been given leave by Jaime to head back. Soon, they had a makeshift train of troops. Jaime, Lyle, Gally, Arthur, and Paege rode point. The little Lannister host would not make it back to Casterly Rock tonight. Around dark, they made camp in the road, with nearly a hundred tents stretching back down the sandy strip between scrubby hills.

“The lady!” a lookout called abruptly, and Jaime stood from where he’d been teaching the boys how to set up a camp tent.

She rode in on a tall liver chestnut destier, her blue armor shining and her red half-cape flying behind her. Her helm was on despite the heat. She looked every inch the knight of stories and songs. She dismounted before the horse came fully to a stop. Someone stepped up and took the horse, while Brienne shook off her helm. Her cheeks were ruddy with exertion or embarrassment. The sunburn on her forehead had begun to peel, keeping her freckles hidden. She was biting her bottom lip, which had begun to split. Jaime had never seen anything more lovely. He was struck by impulse, and bowed low to her. “My lady.”

“You have them?” she asked breathlessly. Then her eyes skipped over his shoulder and her relief was palpable.

Jaime shrugged. “We could have made new ones if we lost those.”

Brienne’s eyes re-centered on him, and he laughed at her hidden outrage. It turned to blushing embarrassment as she realized she’d walked directly into his tease.

“You’re vile,” she said, trying to hide a smirk.

Jaime fancied himself quite the flirt, though the only person he had ever flirted with was standing before him looking as though she didn’t know whether to strike him or embrace him. _If an embrace is a possibility, then it must be flirting, right?_

Any further repartee was interrupted when Arthur scampered over, telling Brienne everything that had happened in the last week in far more detail than he had shared with Jaime. From Arthur’s sudden eruption of words, Jaime learned what he suspected-- that Lyle had killed both men because Arthur had frozen up. Nonetheless, Arthur was so proud of Galladon’s kill that one might think it his own.

Brienne tousled Arthur’s hair, greeted Galladon, and called for a squire to strip her of her armor. Once free, she sat around the cookfire with the boys, Lyle, and Paege. When the fire grew low and their stomachs full, she leaned against Jaime in full view of everyone. He draped left arm around her, rubbing her shoulder.

He leaned towards her, whispering, “I took one man prisoner.”

She sat up and looked at him. “What will you do with him?”

Jaime shrugged. “I’m not Lord of Casterly Rock. It’s Alys’s choice, if she wants it, or Tyrion’s if she doesn’t.”

“You know you can make the choice and they will support you.”

“My lady, when I married you, your father had but one condition. I am a Tarth, not a Lannister. My sigil has suns and moons. I’ll not dispense justice in someone else’s kingdom… besides, if Alys really wants to be Lady of the Rock, she has to stop listening to me and start listening to her own counsel.”

Brienne’s eyebrows rose, but she re-settled against him. They watched the fire die.

“It’s growing dark,” Jaime whispered. “And I believe we’ve got a tent with no teenage boys in it.”

“Jaime,” she hissed. “You haven’t bathed in days.”

“I gather neither have you. You’ve been riding about, I hear. The men call you Lady Wraith.”

He felt her cheeks heat even in the dark.

“They say you come out of the black night to herry their sleeping watchmen and excite men half to death.”

“They lie.”

“They do. I know from personal experience that you excite men fully.”

She made a choking noise. “I didn’t-- I’d never--”

He laughed.

“Jaime--”

“Come on, I’m over-excited already.”


	17. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The criminals pay for their crimes.

ALYS

Alys paced in the large solar of the Lord of Casterly Rock, tapping her cane rhythmically before her as habit more than need. She had been relieved when her family returned, but not surprised. She had not doubted that the enormous host of men disgorged from the Rock would find her brothers. She was astonished that in the end it had not been the host, but simply Father and loyal Ser Lyle Crakehall, whom he had known as a child. Finally, all was well. Her family was reunited-- all excepting the littlest ones and Grandfather. Brien had recovered from his head wound and even now sat in the solar playing cyvasse with Gally. Alys could hear the little pieces clacking on the board. Arthur was the third squeaky chair in their corner of the room. Mother and Father sat together silently. Their silence alone told her they were watching her and waiting for her answer. Aunt Genna was sewing; the soft swish of her fabric a soothing sound. Outside, the wind and sea continued its incessant roar.

“What would you do?” Alys asked.

Father breathed deeply in. Mother shifted. Then Father shifted, looking at her perhaps?

Mother spoke. “A swift, clean death for anyone in House Plumm who knew about the plot.”

“And what of Ser Jimmer?” Their prisoner had dutifully given the names of everyone who had known anything about the plot; a plot he himself had helped plan.

“The same,” said Father.

“He’s under the impression that he’ll get leniency for giving names,” Alys stopped pacing to face her parents.

“I didn’t make any such bargain with him. Did you?”

“No.” Alys wrung her hands. “It feels wrong.”

“Whose fault is it if he presumes? Not yours.”

“On the other hand,” Aunt Genna spoke, “A man who knows forgiveness-- and knows it may be withdrawn at any moment-- may be relied upon to be more loyal than most.”

“You would have her keep him nearby?” Father barked, incredulous.

“No, I’m just pointing out that there are merits either way.”

“Mother?” Alys wanted her advice.

“Things are different in the Stormlands,” Mother said.

“Yes, but what _would_ you do?”

“In the West, loyalty is a currency that can be bought and sold. In the east, it is born and bred. It cannot be bought. I would have his head. As for forgiveness… the rest of the Plumm household will feel that. I would not put to death people who simply _knew_ of the scheme, only those involved. The stable boy and the kitchen maid couldn’t have hoped to stop it.”

“My wise wife,” Father said, his voice thick with admiration.

Alys nodded. “I… I know the King believes that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword, and I’ve no… I would defend myself, you know that…”

Aunt Genna came to her bumbling rescue. “In the West, we don’t see any dishonor in using a headsman.”

“I’ve decided,” Alys said after some more pacing. “I’ll have Ser Jimmer’s head. But I’ll spare those of House Plumm who did not participate in the scheme. The others are to be put to death. I’ll need to name my justice.”

“I’ll volunteer,” Father said without hesitation.

“Father can do it.”

Genna sniffed. “Such men should consider it an honor to lose their heads to Valyrian steel. I’d name the forrester and have him use his dullest axe.” She had not so much as paused her sewing.

“Aunt,” Father warned.

“But you are a gentle young thing yet, dear Alys. Give them swift deaths.”

In this, at least, Alys felt no hesitation. “I don’t want anyone to suffer. I just can’t abide living somewhere if I don’t feel safe. I can’t imagine… does it make me paranoid, if I can’t trust Ser Jimmer despite his pleas?” She heard the sound of her own voice: desperate and young.

Father spoke first. “No, no.” He was placating her with his tone.

Alys felt her throat tighten as fear climbed out of her stomach. She couldn’t voice it to her father, she wouldn’t. He would blame himself if he knew her real fear. It soured her stomach and made her breathing tight. Was she turning into Mad Queen Cersei? She felt _afraid_ of a man who had repented. She wanted him dead so she didn’t have to feel fear. But wouldn’t someone else come along behind him? Where did the killing end?

“Mama?” Her voice was soft, on the verge of tears.

But it was Galladon who answered. “Ser Jimmer tried to convince his comrades to kill Arthur. Over and over again, he begged them. If he could have convinced them, he wouldn’t have hesitated a moment to kill a boy of three and ten who was entirely innocent. _Our_ Arthur. If you spare him, I’ll kill him. Him and Lord Plumm and all of them.”

Galladon was Alys’s gentle brother, her twin untainted by a Mad Queen’s blood, her way to know she was sane. His words calmed her breathing.

Then Arthur spoke. “Let me do Lord Plumm?”

Many chairs creaked, and Alys guessed everyone was turning towards Arthur.

“I couldn’t kill that man in the woods. But if I were to do this… I just want to have my first kill over with so I won’t always be wondering when that will be and whether I can… and Lord Aldo… is that not a good first kill, Father? Something people might speak of?”

“It is,” Father said, “But if you hesitate or get sick, people will speak of that as well.”

Mother spoke softly but firmly. “You do the others, Jaime, but let Arthur behead Ser Aldo last. None will stay after that, and I think he’s not wrong. My master at arms had me slaughter lambs, and we’ve not had him prepare for a kill in such a way. There can be no doubt that Ser Aldo is deserving of the block.”

“None,” Alys agreed. Not waiting for her father to answer, Alys said, “Father shall behead all the men save one. Arthur will behead Ser Aldo with Father’s sword, so even if his aim is off there would be no question of a quick death.” Valyrian steel did not lose its edge.

*****

Alys stood stiffly between her mother and Aunt Genna. She kept her spine straight, unwilling to show any emotion besides resolve. These people must not see regret, doubt, uncertainty-- she felt each, but she knew they were phantoms. _If Galladon and Mother believe this is the right path, it must be._ Alys loved her father beyond compare, but she didn’t always trust his judgement. She’d heard enough stories, but needed to know no more than the truth of her birth to understand that he could be blind when it came to the people he loved.

As the crowd hushed, Alys spoke.

“People of the West, as Lord Tyrion’s chosen heir and Lady of House Lanniser, I sentence these men to die by the sword. Their treason has been proven. In the place of Lord Aldo, House Plumm passes to Ser Dennis’s second son, Lord Narmen Plumm.” The boy was only five and ten, but his youth made him a good choice. Ser Dennis’s younger brothers had died on the Rose Road before Alys had been born, when Daenerys Targaryen cooked them in their armor.

“Do any of you have last words?” None of them spoke. “Commence,” she called.

She heard her father step out of line. Even Ser Jimmer had stopped his pleading. There were nine blocks for nine men: Ser Jimmer, Lord Aldo, his maester, his castellan, and five knights sworn to Lord Aldo. He’d done poorly to involve so many people in this plan, but at least no other house of the West had colluded with them.

She heard the tell-tale ring of Valyrian steel along Father’s scabbard. He went down the line, one by one, and she heard the wish and thunk of the blade meeting flesh, the thrushing pop of a head into a basket, and Father’s measured steps to the next man while the crowd cheered. Some of the doomed men whimpered. Some begged for their mothers. It seemed they had some last words after all.

Eight, Alys counted, and then Father wiped his sword on something and stepped back towards her. It was Father who spoke this part.

“Arthur, my oldest living son but one, is unbloodied in battle. He would like very much for the first blood he sheds to be that of Lord Aldo Plumm, the man who wished to rape his sister.”

He’d chosen the words purposely to grate on the morals of all present. As Father handed the sword over to Arthur, the crowd erupted in triumphant cries. A group was chanting “Hear me roar.”

Alys heard Arthur’s faltering steps, she heard Widow’s Wail sweep down and another head fall into another basket. The crowd roared. She heard the shouts, “The Young Lion, The Young Lion!” Arthur wiped Father’s sword and walked to Father. The blade rang as it fell into the sheath once more. Mother exhaled loudly at Alys’s side. And then, as though it had been nothing, Mother was turning Alys and they were moving back inside the Keep.

*****

JAIME

Sparring with Brienne, Arthur, Gally, and Brien was a usual afternoon’s entertainment on Tarth. Jaime had suggested sparring today in an attempt to restore normalcy to their routine after the turbulent morning. Doing something so _ordinary_ in the yard at Casterly Rock felt stranger than Jaime had imagined possible. He had the odd sensation that he might find his childhood maester yelling at him for escaping lessons, or his sister coaxing him to switch clothes, or his brother asking for a story. Jaime jumped half a mile when Strongboar’s dry voice interrupted his spar with the family-- thinking for half a moment that Tywin was back from the grave. Rather, Lyle, Addam, Kennos, and Merlon, all very much alive, wanted to join the friendly match. They all spoke the same language of steel-on-steel. Jaime smiled at his oldest friends. “Have you forgotten so soon how my lady beat you soundly on the tourney field?”

Young Merlon Crakehall smiled. He was a handsome man, with his dark hair and trimmed beard. “We didn’t come for the Lady Wraith. We want a chance against you, old man.”

“You’ve fought me and lost,” Jaime said. “Many times. Even with but one hand, Merlon. You must remember Tarth.”

“Yes, but you’ve gotten older!” Everyone laughed, even Brienne.

In the end they made two teams by drawing straws. It was Gally, Arthur, Lyle, and Addam against Jaime, Brienne, Brien, Kennos, and Merlon-- not hardly a fair fight. Jaime’s team won two bouts, but Gally and Arthur seemed to work well with Lyle and Addam. They had better teamwork, if a smaller team.

Now, Jaime was eager to show his wife the salt baths of the Rock. He was returning to their rooms to bring changes of clothes. He passed Genna, Kaysie, and Alys walking through the sun-light outer passage of the carved part of the castle, and bowed genially. Genna tutted, Kaysie giggled, and Alys smiled distractedly, unamused by his unseen antics. He would have to seek her out later to be sure of her mood.

He was nearly to his room when he heard a voice behind him. “Jaime… Jaime!”

Jaime turned to see Addam catching him up. “Need a rematch already?”

“Haha. No. I was hoping I might ask you something. It’s, well, your son. I was wondering if you’d be amenable to him squiring at Ashemark.”

“You know King Jon has taken--”

Addam shook his head. “No, no, Arthur. I got to know him a bit along the road. He’s fine with the sword, and I hear he kept his head every moment of his captivity. He’ll make a great knight someday. Like his father.”

Jaime rubbed his face. “The flattery is unnecessary.”

“It wasn’t flattery.”

“You would turn him into a lion?”

“He already _is_ a lion. Gods, he looks almost exactly like you. He’s got your skill. You don’t mean to strip the West of all talent, surely.”

Jaime turned and kept walking.

“Jaime!” Addam called.

Jaime stopped again. “I can’t give away all my children on one trip, Addam. Leave me be.” Jaime found that his mood had turned abruptly sour.

“Oh don’t. You have a babe, and a little girl, am I right? I’m sure you’ll refill that castle of yours in a couple years.”

“I won’t have this conversation.”

“He’s three and ten! Do you think he wants to go back home, where he’ll be a glorified babysitter?”

Jaime paused, remembering Arthur on the ship from Tarth to King’s Landing. He had been tasked with watching CatCat, and had hated every minute of it. With his sister as Lady Lannister and his brother squiring for the king, how _would_ Arthur feel to know that he’d had the chance to squire for Ser Addam Marbrand, Lord of Ashemark, and his father had refused?

Jaime nodded reluctantly. “You have my permission to ask him. _Ask_ ,” he reiterated as Addam was about to thank him. “Do not pressure, or I’ll be looking for a new Lord of Ashemark.”

“That’s unfair.” Addam was offended by Jaime’s lack of trust, clearly.

“Sorry, I… Just, ask. I will also have to speak to Brienne.”

“I’ve already spoken to her. She agreed, but felt you would be a harder sell. She bade me ask you before speaking to Arthur.”

That was a relief, at least. Tyrion went behind Jaime’s back, and maybe he had good reason to because Jaime would have refused him. Nonetheless, Jaime feared it happening a second time.

Addam approached. “These are good people you are raising, Jaime. The greater world needs such people in it. Perhaps you and your lady wife should take a squire or two once more. Imagine all the good you could do the world.”

Jaime sighed. “I’ve already given the world more of myself than I had to give.” He held up his hook for evidence. But he knew Addam had a point. “I’ll consider taking a squire. A pity you only have girls.”

“And who’s to say none of them want to take up the sword?” Addam raised an eyebrow.

“Do they?”

“Well, not yet, but who knows?”

Jaime laughed helplessly. “You’ve time left to make more.”

“A task I fear I’ve kept you from!” Addam waved Jaime off. “I’ll keep the boys occupied while you enjoy the Lady Wraith.”

Just then, a figure appeared behind Addam. “Ser Jaime, a word?” Ser Lucion glanced between Addam and Jaime.

“What?” Jaime groaned.

“I was wondering if I might talk to you about squiring--”

“Oh no, not you too,” Jaime sighed.

Addam laughed. “King Jon’s got dibs on Galladon, and I called Arthur.”

Lucion grimaced, and Jaime would never know if he had been planning to propose squiring Arthur at the Rock, but to Lucion’s credit, he pivoted gracefully. “Brien Payne, my lord. He’s old enough to squire, and betrothed to Lady Alys.”

“And not my son.”

Lucion raised one trim eyebrow. “Whom should I ask?”

Jaime sighed. “I’ll speak to Brienne about writing Ser Podrick, his father.”

“Thank you. I am sure he would want to stay near his betrothed, and he will have to learn of the West if he intends to be Lord of Casterly Rock.”

Brien? Lord of Casterly Rock? Jaime had come to terms with Brien as Alys’s future husband, but that was different than naming him Lord of the Rock, surely. That was a title that Tywin had taught the realm to fear. Young Brien was meek and mannered, much like his father, though less shy than Pod had been at Brien’s age.  
Jaime rubbed his forehead. He thought he had a headache coming on. “Go away, the both of you. I’ve a bath to get to.” He waved off the intrusion of squire requests and moved along the corridor once again.

He would have to speak to Brienne, of course. And send a raven to Podrick-- or rather she would probably like to. But after all, if Jaime had to leave two children in the West, why shouldn’t Pod get to feel some of his pain?

He had promised Lord Selwyn that he’d bring all the children home to Tarth. _If you’re going to break an oath, might as well go all in._ Mayhaps he wasn’t breaking an oath. Were they children, after all? Jaime thought of them as children, but the world wouldn’t see them that way much longer.

He didn’t feel ready to lose them all, but slowly he was coming to understand that their story was no longer his own, and his readiness mattered not one whit.


End file.
